Enduring Obsession
by whitedwarf
Summary: It's Riddle's time at Hogwarts. He can charm anyone but one: Hadrian Carrow. A dichotomy, friends with everyone and yet no one. A Slytherin, he chooses to drink with Gryffindors, debate with Ravenclaws and associate with Hufflepuffs. He's Riddle's obsession. LV/HP
1. Helper

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Pairing: HP/LV

_Summary: It is Tom Riddle's time at Hogwarts .He's clever, charismatic, powerful and envied. He is the leader of Slytherin house. All of the aristocratic, dark, pureblood families follow his example. Black, Malfoy, Greengrass, Parkinson, Nott, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair, Yaxley...the list goes on. He can charm anyone, and has, but one. Hadrian Carrow. Tom first met him in a tumult of unlikely circumstances and, since that moment, forever captured his unending interest. Hadrian is the Carrow heir, a dark pureblood family, a member of Slytheirn house, powerful, handsome, popular, cunning...but, for some reason he does not fall into Riddle's circle. Seemingly friends with everyone but no one at the same time. A joker, but someone that shouldn't be crossed. A dichotomy. Acquaintances with his Slytherin classmates, Hadrian is constantly running from his familiar duties as a dark heir on par with the Malfoy's and Black's. He's ruthlessly intelligent and entirely capable of pureblood decorum. He chooses to drink with Gryffindors, debate with Ravenclaws and associate with Hufflepuffs. He's a playboy. The only one who can beat Riddle in a class. He amazes the school in Quidditch, angers and frustrates his powerful Father, capable of being dangerously flippant with his life. And Tom Riddle's enduring obsession. _

...

Tom sneered deeply at the passing muggles as he made his way through Kings Cross station.

He had decided to leave the orphanage extremely early this morning so that he would have plenty of time to find this platform Professor Dumbledore had told him about a month ago. After informing Tom of his acceptance to the prestigious magical school, Hogwarts, the auburn haired wizard had presented an elaborately decorated train ticket to him. Dumbledore had given him a small, patronising smile and said that the students usually enjoyed the unique transport to school.

Crossing the barrier and letting his grey eyes dance across the numerous parents and students on the wide platform, Tom scoffed.

A train.

A _steam _train.

Oh yes Dumbledore, _ridiculously_ unique.

A sudden and inexplicable fountain of exhilaration was abruptly bubbling, uncontrolled, inside of him. Still, with an iron will, Tom kept his expression impassive as he moved carefully through the white steam towards the brilliantly coloured crimson train.

He walked slowly, but steadily, towards his destination.

_This_ was the world where he belonged.

Tom's shoulder over-extended as his body was jerked to an abrupt halt. The handsome, black haired boy cursed softly under his breath as he turned back around, rubbing his sore shoulder joint, to see that one of the wheels of his battered school-trunk had slipped into a deceptively deep crevice in the platform and become stuck.

Setting his mouth in a tight, firm line, Tom narrowed his slate orbs in angry determination and pulled on the handle of his trunk strongly. The back of his neck burned with his perceived humiliation at the mortifying halt in his confident stride towards the glittering Hogwarts Express.

The cold, steam filled air was suddenly ringing with the painful whine of the train's warning whistle. Tom's neck snapped round and his eyes widened in panic. Rushed hugs, kisses and calls of farewell were exchanged between parents and children all around him. The final tide of bodies clambering quickly onto the ruby train, anxious not to be accidently left behind.

Tom hurriedly turned back to his stubbornly still trunk, twisting and pulling it every which way in a desperate effort to find a means to free it from the platform's trap.

"Hey! Need a hand?"

The laughing voice clearly belonged to a young boy.

Tom didn't even have the chance to pause and consider whether his increasing need for assistance outweighed the degradation of accepting help; let alone, from someone who was clearly laughing at his predicament, before a similarly sized hand joined his on the trunk's handle and pulled.

The brown, second hand trunk submitted under the overwhelming force and, with a small screech of metal against concrete, popped free of the deep hollow in the platform.

Tom barely refrained from sagging in relief before his elbow was being grasped tightly and he was being pulled toward the moving Hogwarts Express at a run. Good thing his other arm had retained such a good hold on his trunk or the fast, jerky movements of the laughing, black haired boy in front of him would have surely sent it flying.

"W-wha?..." Tom's angry, confused demand was cut off by the charming and cultured voice which had spoken earlier.

"No time to talk! As you can see," Here, the boy let out another bark of laughter, clearly finding their predicament hilarious. "The train leaves at precisely eleven o'clock and we both need to be on it!"

Tom scowled darkly but quickly regained his balance, shook off the hand grasping his and quickened his run, the other boy increasing his speed easily to keep up, obviously having hung back to make sure Tom wasn't left behind.

The train wasn't moving very quickly but fast enough that the two black haired boys had to run along beside it when they finally reached the train. Tom hadn't noticed before, but his helper was pulling along his own pristine, expensive looking trunk behind him as well, the wheels bouncing off the platform at the quick pace they were setting.

"Go on! Jump on! I'll lift your trunk up to you!" Tom couldn't make out his companion's face through the thick steam but quickly saw the logic in their words.

Feeling the boy's hand grab hold of his own trunk handle, steadying it, Tom had time for just one thought about what he'd do to the person if he damaged his property in any way, before he gracefully jumped onto the metal steps in the gap between the train's carriages. Spinning around quickly, and it was a good thing too, Tom barely managed to extend his arms swiftly enough to catch the large school truck flying towards him.

"Oomph." Winded, from the blow to his stomach, he glared blackly as he found himself looking at the expensive red school trunk of the other boy, instead of his own brown, beaten one.

That scoundrel! The boy was clearly making sure Tom wouldn't just disappear when he had his own trunk. This way, it ensured he would stick around.

"Look out!" The boy was still laughing! Tom realised with rapidly growing ire. "Next one's coming!"

Tom could feel the growing power beneath his feet as the train continued to pick up speed and hastily shoved the red trunk behind him without care, catching his own as it came sailing through the steam filled air moments later. As soon as his worldly possessions were once again in his grasp, with the knowledge that he was standing on the Hogwarts Express safe and sound, Tom felt the adrenaline that had quickly built in his blood stream immediately subside.

The train was moving quickly now and Tom could just make out flashes of black as his helper sprinted alongside the train on the magically extending platform. It didn't take long for him to figure out why the other hadn't leapt onto the train yet. The Hogwarts Express was now moving at such a speed that the boy didn't have time to slow for even the instant it would take to jump to where Tom was safely standing.

The other's caviller attitude and careless invasion of his personal space had seriously aggravated Tom. He had wanted this day to be perfect. He had wanted to walk slowly, yet, confidently up to the Hogwarts Express, meet the curious gazes of those around him coolly as he entered the world where he really belonged. It was supposed to be a moment he would never forget! It was supposed to be special! He gritted his teeth together angrily.

He should just turn around and enter the carriage through the crimson polished door beside him and let the other boy be left behind. The audacity and nerve of passing up his own trunk first! He clenched his fist against his side.

The train gained even more speed as he stood there silently. He thought he could hear a voice shouting, but, surrounded as he was by the deafening sound of the train's spinning wheels, he couldn't be sure. Through a sudden break in the thick steam clouds Tom glimpsed the end of _even_ a magically lengthened platform in the distance.

In the end, he did what he did so that he could start his beginning in the magical world in no one's debt. He would make it one his own. With no help from anyone!

Tom narrowed his eyes, picked his wand out of the pocket of his Hogwart's robes, he had put them on before he left the orphanage this morning, and cast his first spell.

It was effortless. He grinned in amazement as he felt his magic rushing through him for the first time.

The steam dispersed; swept away under the power of his successful command.

Now, with nothing to obscure his vision, he was able to see that the boy was running with a speed Tom had never before witnessed. His feet barely touched the platform before they were in the air again and his legs moved at a phenomenal rate while still, incredibly, maintaining an instinctive gracefulness.

He was a gifted athlete, Tom realised; his helper.

"Grab my hand!" Tom ordered, bellowing over the noise.

Bracing himself, he locked his left foot behind one of the gaps in the stair's metal handrails and leaned forward, reaching his arm out.

And suddenly, he was staring into the most vibrant, striking emerald eyes he had ever seen.

His fingers slackened but his arm remained extended.

It was the first time he saw the other's face and it was far from laughing now. Pink, tinged the boy's white cheeks from his furious exertion but those eyes...they were judging, calculating. Those eyes, at that moment, assured Tom more than any action the boy would take in the coming years that this was not someone to be taken lightly.

Emerald.

A hand grasped his firmly, and his helper launched himself into the air.

...

_Hey! Please review! Opinions, I love them! ;D_


	2. Slate and Emerald

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

...

_Okay, for those of you who asked :D Hadrian Carrow is AU, he's taking Harry Potter's place, not as the Boy-Who-Lived or anything but basically the significance of the Golden Boy :D And he isn't a time travelling, dimension travelling Harry Potter either. He is Hadrian Carrow, heir to the Carrow family. :D_

_This is indeed a slash story between Tom Riddle/Harry Potter aka Hadrian Carrow, sorry if I didn't make that clear :D_

_..._

Tom glared down at the black ink words of his Charms textbook with annoyance. He had read the same half a page more than four times now and he still didn't have a clue what it was about.

With an irritated sigh, Tom let the open book rest securely across his knees while he turned his neck to look out the large glass window beside him. He had been unquestionably fortunate to not only find, but also remain the sole occupant of this train compartment. He was under no illusion as to the amount of students currently travelling on the Hogwarts Express; the other compartments must be practically overflowing.

Only darkness met his vision as he stared out into the landscape surrounding the train. With nothing to distract him, Tom's mind, against his will, quickly returned to the intriguing puzzle that had refused to leave his thoughts since Kings Cross station.

Again and again his mind replayed the scene, as if determined not to be forgotten. But Tom knew there was no need for such a futile sentiment. He would never forget the first time he stared into those unguarded emerald orbs.

...Nor the short events thereafter.

Tom felt his forehead contort to form an impressive scowl as the raw memory was brought to the surface of his thoughts for the hundredth time within the hour.

He had let go of Tom immediately. Dropping the offered limb with an eagerness that was, frankly, insulting. Tom had always hated others encroaching on his personal space, the arrogance that fuelled the assurance that they were entitled to. He always avoided physical contact; simply because he was uncomfortable with the near constant tangible touches that he had seen most happily live with. He ought to have felt grudging appreciation that his helper had inadvertently respected his wishes. Yet, an action which he would, as a rule, find most agreeable had, in this instance, goaded him beyond logic.

Fuming with the confusion of his unfamiliar reactions, Tom had wanted nothing more than to stalk forward, wrench open the carriage door and leave the other boy gaping at his silently retreating form.

Instead, the black haired student, without even a glance in his direction, proceeded to gently push _him_ aside, grab a hold of his _own_ expensive crimson trunk; the same one Tom had so callously shoved aside in his anger, and...

"_Thanks." _

Tom's breath escaped the hard press of his lips in a quiet hiss.

Such a simple word. A one syllable, casual farewell and the strange Hogwarts student had opened the door to the carriage and disappeared within, without another word.

For the umpteenth time, Tom found himself scowling darkly at the well wore pages of his book instead of calmly soaking in its information.

To be so easily dismissed...he had always hated the feeling of being insignificant in the world, any sort of action which portrayed that he was, had always infuriated him; ever since he was a child. And this instance was no different. The familiar belittlement, shame and anger were present, but this time, it was worse. This was an unprecedented circumstance. His helper seemed to have effortlessly ensnared his curiousity...! And...the boy had just...walked away...

From him!

He slammed the textbook in his lap closed with a loud clap, throwing it onto the empty seats opposite him.

But despite the very real rage his helper's dismissal had engendered inside of him, that wasn't the reason his mind wasn't able to focus on anything else. It was the knowledge, that in any other situation he would be calmly constructing his retribution.

Not feeling a sick sort of excitement that twisted his thoughts!

He brought his right hand up to massage the tight muscles on his left shoulder; kneading the knots that he found there harshly. Beneath his feet, Tom felt the tell-tale feel of the train slowing as its engine lowered its frantic pace.

Idly, he reached up to brush a stray curl out of his eyes, forcing his mind to recall all the information he had read in Hogwarts, A History about the castle; in a partially successful effort to divert his thoughts. Slate eyes gleaming with hidden excitement, Tom stood, picking up his discarded Charms book and placing it back in his trunk. When he felt the train grind to a gentle stop, Tom straightened his back proudly, ran his fingers through his naturally elegant hair and checked his robes one last time. First appearances were everything, after all.

He slid the carriage's glass door open, leaving his battered trunk behind as instructed and stepped smoothly from its confines, into the train's small corridor; which was already filling with students. Tom let his eyes flutter over the children crowding the walkway as he fluidly joined their ranks. Most were acting extremely boisterous, chattering excitedly with their friends, shouting greetings to those they saw meters ahead of them and generally acting precisely their age. His lip curled distastefully at the immature display before his eyes caught sight of four wizards, just ahead of him. Obviously upperclassmen, their robes were immaculate, their faces cold, yet, showing nothing; speaking quietly amongst themselves.

Tom kept his eyes locked on those four students as he finally stepped down off the ruby red steam train and onto a considerably older platform than the one at Kings Cross. Where concrete normally was, the students were standing on old, worn cobblestone, the area lit with soft yellow light coming from antique lampposts.

"First Years! First Years! Please follow the signs to the Black Lake and wait there for further instructions!" A tall, skinny wizard shouted into the crowd of children.

"...No, Valo made Head Boy, I saw him showing the badge off to his Mud blood girlfriend. We're going to have to do something about..."

The malevolent whisperings caught Tom's immediate attention and surreptitiously, he glanced to his left. It was one of the four older students that had caught his eye earlier. They were standing on an angle now, heads bowed, plotting quietly, and he was able to see that all of their ties were silver and green; Slytherin colours.

Tom had, of course, read as much information as he could get his hands on about the establishment he would be spending the next seven years of his life attending. He had quickly worked out that it was almost always the least liked house at Hogwarts that garnered the most success. Ambition and cunning were important qualities to possess if one wished to make anything of themselves. And Tom wanted to make something of himself more than anything.

Smoothly, he weaved his way through the crowd, following the well lit signs to his destination. It wasn't far and, as the shore of a large lake came into focus, Tom could see that about a dozen other first years had already arrived; pointing at the small wooden boats with curiousity.

"Are you a first year?"

What an idiotic question! Tom thought acidly, what else would he be standing here for if he wasn't?

Tom glanced around with extremely low expectations of the individual he would look upon, and found himself staring into very similarly coloured eyes as himself. Though, he was also very aware, under closer inspection, that the other's contained flecks of brown, green and blue which made his untarnished slate far more handsome.

"Abraxas Malfoy." The white blonde boy with pale pointed features held out his hand for Tom to shake, a polite gesture he forced himself to return as he spoke his name coolly.

"Tom Riddle?" The Malfoy boy's eyes widened in surprise before they quickly narrowed in suspicion and the beginnings of dislike. "I could have sworn...you just look so...is that a Muggle name?"

Tom raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with the boy's stuttering and the way he fell over his own words but drew himself up as the sneered question registered.

He was well aware of the stigma attached to being Muggle born. In fact, it was only his discovery of the inescapable prejudice littered throughout the numerous second hand books the small Hogwarts fund had enabled him to purchase, which had been able to quell his unimaginably high spirits for the first time since Albus Dumbledore had given him his letter.

During the dragging silence, Tom noted that about twenty other children around his age had joined them on the shore of the Black Lake and were now watching the exchange with avid eyes.

"Well?" Abraxas demanded, though Tom could tell from the disgusted look in his eyes that he had already drawn his own conclusion and it would take a great deal to convince him otherwise.

"It was my Father's name." Tom answered his tone and words sounding educated and cool.

"Well...there you have it, Abraxas; our year's first Mud blood."

Tom's eyes narrowed as he watched a small, petite girl walk towards them. She was unquestionably pretty. Her large sapphire eyes, mass of raven curls and pale skin were the type of features which would, in the coming years, make her an indisputably beautiful woman.

Before Tom even had the chance to show the two unsuspecting fools the idiocy of their actions he was thoroughly distracted by a familiar bark of laughter.

"Oh, Darla _darling_, look who's talking." His helper seemed to appear from nowhere, his black hair untamed and his piercing green orbs sparkling with mirth.

The tiny girl spun round with an expression of pure loathing painted on her features. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She breathed dangerously. Apparently, they knew each other.

His helper was wearing an infuriatingly cocky smirk, tilting his neck slightly as if he were studying her. "Nothing, Darla! I can't believe you would ever believe me to be capable of a derisive remark!" The innocent, offended tone was completely ruined by the ever growing grin of hilarity on the other boy's face, as he watched the girl become angrier and angrier with his words. "But, it is curious how you are the first Black in...how many generations?...that doesn't have their signature grey eyes. They even translated to dear Abraxas from his Mother! But not you...an offspring of the main branch of the Black family." The boy shook his head and tisked loudly, the audience around them giggling, some trying to muffle their laughter while others, like Malfoy, glared daggers at his helper. "You are a conundrum, aren't you Darla, darling?"

The tiny female figure's fists balled tightly at her sides and she gave a scream of outrage, before, "Petrificus Totalus!" Darla Black shrieked.

Tom was moving before he even realised exactly what he was doing. He had only performed one spell before in his life and it had worked perfectly, completely unaware of how rare and telling that was, he felt his magic surge through him, eager to please, and calmly spoke the spell.

"Protego."

A perfect silvery blue shield sprung up around his helper and reflected the yellow spell successfully.

Silence invaded every single one of the excited first years surrounding the small spectacle. Tom had reacted so quickly, the quality of the shield was plain to all and it had been far above what an eleven year old ought to be capable of.

Both the Malfoy boy and Black girl were staring at him with calculating thoughts running through their eyes. Most of the other students were staring at him open mouthed, in awe. Tom swelled as feelings of control and magnificence flowed through him.

Then he glanced at his helper, and faulted.

Bewitching, emerald orbs were neither calculating nor in awe. Nothing. His display had not moved him.

Tom's fingers fisted around the wand that was now resting at his side; his knuckles white.

...Nothing!

Everyone in his life had always reacted in some way to his magic.

It was what made Tom so special.

The children at the orphanage may be Muggles and he may hate them, but they had been scared of him...scared of his magic.

Dumbledore had been wary and unwillingly impressed. Tom had been able to read those emotions from the powerful wizard , his words had thrown the old man so off centre that his defences lowered for a short moment, but Tom had seen enough.

The Malfoy boy.

Olivander, at the wand shop in Diagon Alley.

The Matron at the orphanage.

The Black girl.

His fellow first years.

The Goblins at Gringotts.

No matter the type of reaction, a taste of his magic _always_ affected those to whom it was revealed.

_Always_!

It was a shattering discovery. Tom was special. He was special amongst those in the world, wizards and witches, who themselves, were special.

And...nothing.

Emerald eyes flickered away from his own slate, a broad grin once again widening those lips, white teeth gleaming in the darkness.

"_Oh no_, Darla, Abraxas..." He threw back his head and laughed heartily, Tom's eyes drinking in his every movement greedily. "Tom Riddle is certainly _no_ Mud blood."

Murmurs of agreement drifted through the small crowd and Tom noticed the Malfoy boy puffing up obnoxiously as if he had always known it was so. Even the Black girl was looking at him in a considering way.

It was exactly what he had always wanted. Respect. Recognition. Power.

But despite his first moment of glory and his place as leader of his year being created and solidified before his very eyes, Tom couldn't drag his gaze away from the singular figure that drifted away from the crowd. The students were all clambering to introduce themselves now and Tom couldn't have been in a more disagreeable mood. Nonetheless, he pushed the feelings aside and greeted his new classmates with dignity and calm.

He had no idea how his helper managed it. As effortlessly as he had made himself the centre of attention, the boy also had the ability to simply disappear and fade into the background. Tom was certain that that was what his mysterious helper was doing as he watched him, out of the corner of his eye, climb gracefully into one of the small boats on the Black Lake.

"Good, good, it looks as if you're all here." The skinny professor called as he walked briskly towards them. "There are four to a boat, so sort yourselves out." He instructed as he took a whole craft for himself.

Tom was eager to speak with his helper, however, a small hand held him still as it tugged insistently on his elbow. With an irritated set to his lips, he twisted around.

"Tom, come on! We've saved you a seat with us!" It was the Black girl, Darla. Her large sapphire eyes blinking up at him hopefully.

As he looked down, into her seemingly enormous eyes, Tom knew that smug satisfaction should be saturating his mood. He knew the power of the Black and Malfoy families. His readings had made that plain enough. So, to have gained their respect so early, before he had even reached Hogwarts, was an achievement he was pleased with. For that reason, Tom most definitely shouldn't be thinking of ways he could gracefully refuse her invitation. Certainly not because all he really wanted to do was sit with the black haired boy that had captured his attention like nothing ever had before.

It was a battle between logic and emotion.

War, raging, against ambition and fascination.

But the choice was taken from him.

The craft where his helper sat silently, not conversing with those around him but entirely absorbed by the magnificent spectacle that the illuminated castle made against the wild landscape of Scotland, had already been filled with exuberant first years.

His disappointment mingled starkly with relief.

He wanted very much to be one of the four presently occupying that boat, but, Tom didn't think it was within himself to turn his back on his ambitions. His life, his actions, every step he took in this new world would be choreographed. He would become someone great; forever remembered.

"Tom?" The Black girl called uncertainly.

His lip turned up with aversion at the sound of her voice. He detested socialising with a passion. All the same, his plans called for it; and, like everything else which he tackled, if he must suffer it, he would the best.

"I'm coming." Tom refrained from snapping as he stalked back to the boat she had previously indicated and settled into the seat next to Malfoy.

"Hi, I'm Arcturus Black, Darla's twin brother, pleased to meet you." A dark featured boy, sitting next to his sister, smirked. Tom looked into the grey eyes he now knew were indicative of the Black family, opposite him, carefully. There was real intelligence there...and cunning. Tom returned the smirk and held out his hand, feeling a spark of interest in the boy.

"Likewise." He drawled.

Arcturus grinned wickedly.

"I would like to assure you, as the Black heir, that not all members of our family are as hot headed as my sister."

Darla hissed at the teasing comment. "Shut it, brother. You know that Carrow has always rubbed me the wrong way."

The slight interest Tom had been feeling at the out of ordinary personality he sensed the male Black was, multiplied exponentially as his quick mind rapidly connected the dots.

"...Carrow?" He echoed coolly, raising a brow. "The boy you attempted to jinx?' Tom asked with carefully crafted casualness.

Darla blushed deeply and hid herself amongst her silky black mass of curls for a moment before quickly reappearing and inclining her head.

"Yes." She answered shortly, clearly furious about what had happened but wanting to be helpful and answer Tom's questions. "The Carrow heir, Hadrian."

Hadrian Carrow. Tom savoured the knowledge of his helper's name with a jealousy which startled him, but, he was quick to thrust his unease aside as his brilliant mind rapidly began recalling facts.

Carrow...they were an old family. His extensive reading before Hogwarts had given him enough information to know that he was part of a special year of Hogwarts students. The old, powerful pureblood families weren't known for having many children and each year at Hogwarts there was always differing numbers of heirs amongst the cohort. Tom had only met a few of his classmates but he knew already that the Malfoy, Black, Nott, Le'strange and now Carrow heirs were surrounding him. He knew the families; dark purebloods that carried enormous power and prestige.

And he was already more powerful than them, he grinned darkly. He could feel it.

"You tried to jinx Hadrian?" Arcturus whistled, smirking. "You're lucky sister. If that spell had hit its target you might have been spending your first night at Hogwarts in the hospital wing."

Tom's spine straightened in renewed curiousity.

Darla Black's face heated at her brother's mockery, sapphire eyes darting swiftly over to him before they focused back on Arcturus. The side glance was so swift, in fact, that Tom may have missed it entirely if their words hadn't captured his interest so completely.

"Don't be absurd, Arcturus, Carrow isn't capable of being serious for long enough to actually throw a curse." She sniffed.

Vibrant emerald orbs locked with his, the boy's speed so great he was practically flying. Dark, sharp intelligence radiated from those eyes with a heat that was inescapable. Mature, calculating, powerful.

Her words seemed to shatter and reverberate through his mind; their falsity so blatant to him it was painful to even allow the contemplation to manifest.

Tom's expression of slight interest didn't falter for even a moment; such was his control.

The female Black, at least, seemed to honestly believe her declaration.

Beside him, Malfoy let out a chuckle of humour. "You are always so blind when it comes to Hadrian, Darla. Ever since I can remember." He pushed back his platinum blonde fringe and grinned. "You can only press him so much before he snaps, and his temper, however rare its appearance, isn't something I enjoy experiencing."

Darla Black's red lips stretched into a sadistic grin as she slowly leaned forward.

"Surely...,_ cousin_...," Her mouth pulled itself into a wide smile, her teeth shining aggressively as she stressed their familial ties. "You are not _frightened_ of the _half-breed_."

Half-breed?

Tom's eyes narrowed to slits and, with a confidence that was impossible not to respect, he interrupted their heated exchange with cold words.

"Half-breed?" He directed his question to the male Black.

Arcturus, who was leaning back on his elbows which rested against the rim of the small, wooden boat, shot his suddenly silent sister a furious, reproachful glare.

"I'm very sorry, Tom, my sister should know better than to be so careless with information." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Alas, I cannot answer your query, it is private information that should not be passed around or casually gossiped about." The Black heir's words were stilted and formal.

His eyebrows rose at the unexpected answer. Evidently, they had committed a serious faux pas by allowing him to overhear such 'sensitive' information.

Unfortunately, for the pureblood trio, they couldn't have picked a worse wizard to accidently drop interesting information in front of. Notwithstanding the fact, that it concerned Hadrian Carrow.

Tom's lips slowly widened into a dark smirk, absent of any true humour, and he chuckled quietly as he surveyed all three of their stiff forms.

There was no way this information would stay hidden from him.

"Look, we don't know each other very well, but you've just told me that you were clearly not meant to have mentioned it at all. And I always get what I want. How would it look if I suddenly began asking around Hogwarts what you three meant, when you referred to Hadrian Carrow as a half-breed?" Tom threatened quietly with a warm smile.

It was that small, unassuming and naive smile that sent shivers down all three student's spines. They knew he was threatening them, it was obvious. That wasn't what intimidated them. It was the knowledge that if Riddle had presented them with that smile at any other instance they would have been convinced, without a shadow of doubt, that those were his true emotions. But they couldn't be, the threat was too obvious.

Arcturus was the first to recover from the shocking discovery, surveying the completely at ease boy opposite him with climbing regard.

"...Alright Riddle." The Black heir murmured his acquiescence, ignoring the disbelieving stare Abraxas was shooting him. "You win. It is our own fault for having such loose tongues. Even so, I must ask you not to repeat what I say."

Tom smiled, "Of course."

"Hadrian Carrow's mother is a siren." Arcturus announced with no preamble. He was thoroughly satisfied with the way Riddle's eyes widened in shock at the revelation.

A siren. How interesting, Tom thought. He knew enough to understand why that information would be kept as under wraps as possible. While Hadrian Carrow was still be regarded as a pure blood; his human half was, after all, descended from one of the most celebrated of bloodlines, it was not advisable to allow his magical creature heritage to became widely known.

One of the tatty books Tom had found at the bottom of the second hand crate at Flourish and Blotts, _Decoding the In's and Out's of Old Wizarding Customs, _had explained everything to Tom's enquiring mind.

It was anything but uncommon to have magical creatures in a pure blood family tree. Though Carrow, being the first descendent of such a union was unusual. Consequently, he would possess a far larger and more powerful consortium of magical creature traits and, of course, it was those traits inherited by lucky descendents which were so jealously coveted by the dark families. Most, like the Malfoy's and Black's, were the product of more than five generations of diluted creature blood.

Suddenly, Tom's mind was able to put a name to the emotion that had dominated Darla Back's face when she was whispered the word, _half-breed_, so scornfully; jealousy.

How typical.

Arcturus was correct to describe his sister as hot-headed. Her temper got the best of what Tom knew, was an intelligent mind. Her anger blinded her, made her unpredictable and more difficult to control.

Still, it was her jealousy of Hadrian Carrow that allowed Tom to see the information he had read in the scruffy, priceless book he found in Diagon Alley translated into reality.

Within the circle of old, dark, pureblood families that were still loyal to maintaining the purity that was magic, to mate with a magical creature was a greatly envied position. First generation descendents of such marriages possessed more creature traits and magical strength than any following generation. Hadrian Carrow would hold a great amount of power and, consequently prestige, simply because of who his parents were.

Veela, Vampires, Elves, Selkie, Sirens...the list of magical creature blood within the dark families was almost endless.

Tom wondered absently which siren traits his helper had inherited, most wouldn't manifest until his sixteenth birthday.

Still, however much the positives of such interbreeding were gladly welcomed in offspring of pureblood families; due to Muggle influence, through half-bloods and Muggle borns, prejudice against magical creatures was now so deeply engrained in wizarding culture, that to admit to a long ago exalted union was inviting scorn and disaster upon yourself.

Tom scowled darkly at the thought of his helper having to hide who his was due to the parasitic influence of Muggles.

And that _was_ what the other was doing, he realised.

He was disguising his uniqueness, half of his being, in an effort to fly beneath the radar. And the dark, pureblood heirs opposite him were privy to such personal information, no doubt to facilitate any help they may be able to offer in Carrow's effort.

"I assure you, I will not be careless with this knowledge." Tom spoke calmly, as their boat gently pushed up onto the lake's shore.

It wasn't for the consideration of putting their mind's at ease that urged him to speak. No, it was a subtle reprimand for them. One he was sure, they would understand.

Climbing gracefully from the boat, Tom tilted his neck back in order to view the dominating, magical structure that was to be his home for the next seven years.

An unfathomable number of windows sparkled; casting a soft, inviting, golden light at their feet. He could feel the age and strength of the castle, and it was magnificent.

His eyes fluttered closed for the barest of seconds, overwhelmed with the tangible taste of magic in the air.

Sense returned to him swiftly, and he calmed his expression. Wiping it of all awe and happiness.

It would not do to show his true emotions.

Opening his eyes, he cast a sharp, sweeping stare among those who were now his classmates. His shoulders relaxed. None of these bumbling fools had noticed his short lapse in control; too busy goggling ridiculously up at the stone structure themselves.

Bringing his gaze back around, it was with the sensation of unexpectedly falling through and beneath the ice of a lake in the depths of winter that Tom found himself caught in the staggering depths of brilliant green.

His breath hitched, painfully paralysed in his chest.

Those eyes knew.

They had caught his moment of weakness.

But Tom, remarkably, wasn't raging inside.

The burning air escaped his lungs in a soft, warm exhale.

For those orbs of emerald held the same weakness, the same _awe_ for the magnificence of the magic that surrounded them.

Thirty students stood before the steps of Hogwarts.

But there were only two that had the necessary magical power to truly appreciate it.

Slate and Emerald.

The raking hot claws of his fascination slammed closed in obsession.

...

_Hey! I hope you liked it! Next chapter there's going to be a time jump to their 2nd last to last year at Hogwarts, and that's where the plot of the story will really start to unfold._

_Yeah! :D_

_Please review, I would absolutely adore to know what you thought! :D_

_..._

_AUTHOR NOTE_

_**19**__**th**__** July 2011**__**: Howdy! Is that shock I sense? Gaping? Wide eyes? Blinking, then checking to see the words aren't dissapearing before your very eyes...? Yeah, that sounds about right ;D **_

_**About the long break I've been taking from writing...sorry. I was going through some stuff which put me into a not so loose, more a noose type tightness of an unenviable bind. That said, I hope you you guys haven't lost your ethusiasm for my stories! I just finished my uni exams, so, I'm going to take the next couple of days to re-read Personas and Enduring Obesession, look back over my notes, basically jog my memory because the amount of ends I always like to have is ridiculous and frighteningly easy to contradict seemingly small points if I'm not careful. Then, I'm going to be working on an update for each these two stories. Not sure at the moment which one I'll write first though(GRIN).**_

_**SO, (drumroll please! ;D) the good news: Both stories are going to have new chapters sometime in the next four weeks, at this moment I'm thinking sooner rather than later, but, unfortunately, it depends on how my re-reads go. Though my updating won't be quite so frequent as it was before, (one about every two weeks), I do intend to be updating both stories until completion from here on out without hiatus'. YEH!**_

_**Hope this message reaches everyone out there! I'm off to re-read them myself now so...chao! ;D**_

_**...Hm...Huh...(scratches head)...riiiight...I have to be honest, didn't think I'd be hitting a road block quite this early in the comeback process...which one do I read first?...(sheepish grin and wink)...eeny-meeny-miny-mo, anyone?... **_

_**;D**_


	3. Unorthodox Pair

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

...

*RE-UPLOADED: 5pm 12/12/11 chapter 3 as problems with accessing chapter*

_AN# Hey all! If there is any spelling or grammatical mistakes in this chapter, please, feel free to point them out to me so that I can correct them. I just wanted to get this chapter out to you as soon as I had it finished so the editing process was just one quick run through rather than the intensive editing I normally give my chapters. _

_That said I hope there isn't many mistakes and, again, if you find any, please, tell me! :D_

_..._

"What are you doing up here?"

Tom glanced up from his casual sitting position on his four poster bed at the sound of Abraxas Malfoy's incredulous voice.

"I had been enjoying the silence." His voice was soft but, nevertheless, the blonde was quick to wince in realisation and apologise.

Tom, not even bothering to send his classmate a warning stare effortlessly returned his attention to the essay in front of him. Dipping his quill in the ink bottle balancing on his knee, Riddle added yet another evidentiary argument to his already overwhelming case.

Malfoy took a seat on his own bed, not making any other motion to speak as he waited for Tom to finish whatever he was doing.

Roughly five or so minutes later, Tom's elegantly flowing quill came to a precise stop. He reached over to his bed side table, opened a small container and proceeded to sprinkle a generous amount of sand onto the long, yellowing parchment scroll.

Judging it safe, now that the Slytherin prefect was rolling up his essay and placing it into his bag for tomorrow, Abraxas elaborated on the question he had carelessly interrupted Riddle with earlier when he had stormed into the sixth year dormitories.

"I don't know why you would want to do that now, Tom. Everybody's looking for you downstairs in the common room. Even Professor Slughorn thought it odd that you weren't there celebrating the win." He tried to make his pointed words as gentle as possible. It would be incredibly unwise for anyone to ever appear to be ordering the boy opposite him to do anything.

"I hardly find the fact that Slytherin beat Gryffindor in the first Quidditch match of the year a reason to consume ridiculous amounts of alcohol. Or watch, as my house mates make complete fools of themselves as they rub up against each other and generally exhibit other, far more repulsive actions; all for the sake of a game." Tom spoke the words calmly, his body language anything but impassioned.

If Abraxas hadn't believed it impossible he would have classified the slight droop of the other's eyelids to be boredom.

As it was, Tom was wishing very much that he had gone to the library to study at this point. Abraxas Malfoy was a useful contact, being the heir of a pureblood family with an impressive and long lineage, but truthfully, Tom had always found the boy to be far from interesting. There was nothing in his personality, manner or way of thinking that was one step from the norm. At least Darla, for all her blinding faults, possessed a keenness of mind which tended to address problems in an unorthodox manner.

The blonde grimaced at what he viewed as sacrilegious words. "Tom, it was the first match of the year and we absolutely slaughtered the Gryffindors! It was glorious!" He laughed, closing his eyes as he relived the game.

"Yes," Tom drawled. "Fascinating."

Malfoy's brow drew down in disappointment at Tom's lack lustre response, and was about to open his mouth to expand on why the game was one to be remembered forever when a deep voice full of humour interrupted him.

"Don't even bother, cousin. Riddle has never cared for the frivolities that most of us take such pleasure in, I highly doubt that that will ever change." Arcturus smirked form the doorway.

Tom repressed a growl of annoyance. He had come up to the dorm to get away from people, how did they not get that? How were they all so utterly blind to actually believe that he, Tom Riddle, genuinely enjoyed their company? Found it stimulating?

But no, that wasn't true, Tom mused with an inward smirk.

There was a very small number, he was well aware, the more intelligent and perceptive of his 'friends', that had begun to experience minute, niggling doubts concerning the faithfulness of his cool regard. Amusement flared inside him as he recalled some of the more noteworthy time's when confusion, pain and suspicion would blacken their eyes. They had an inkling of his true feelings, it was what made it all the more sweet when he watched them stubbornly deny and lie to themselves until the hurtful reality was once again buried in their subconscious.

"I may not find myself captivated by the mechanics of multiple balls flying haphazardly through the air," he smirked. "But can either of you tell me the correct instructions for the blood replenishing draught that we will all be tested on tomorrow?"

Malfoy's face took on a slightly panicked expression while Black's eyes widened before his shoulders slumped in irritated remembrance.

They had forgotten.

There was a certain level of power one gained with an absolute and total knowledge of another's character and personality. It was power Tom found as addicting as the blackest of the Dark Magics he practised. Once you possessed such comprehensive awareness of a person's mind...you owned them. You'd won. It gave you an ability of such foresight that was...power.

The very vast majority of people Tom didn't bother with. They were all so alike. Their insecurities, their passions, ambition, love...the sheer blandness of the population's sheeplike thoughts and actions were enough to drive him to distraction. He had no tolerance for idiots. Unfortunately, they all seemed to want to be idiots together.

Tom sneered slightly at the pair in disgust. "No? ... Pity." He tsked mockingly.

Memory of the raucous party happening downstairs and their original intention of convincing Tom to join abruptly fled.

"Of course though, I am aware that the Ministry recruiting department also understand the importance of Quidditch, and will not think anything of the pair of you failing a potion which just so happens to be an incredibly major section of the sixth year practical and theoretical brewing curriculum." His words were innocent and seemingly without reproach as he settled back into the multiple pillows propped up against his headboard and opened a book.

Of course, the rest of the populous; the tiny number of individuals which were unique enough to garner his interest was the exception. The Black twins, more Arcturus than Darla both possessed a certain...innate viciousness which made them unpredictable. Darla, for the most part, allowed that dark instinct to control her, unlike her male twin. They were formidable predators, the both of them, and had held his interest until the inevitable boredom crept up half way through third year. Tom had no doubt that had he met the pair now, for the first time, that interest would only have held for four months. Experience and maturity had meant that he was capable of unravelling puzzles with a swiftness that showed no signs of slowing.

Arcturus shot him a sour look which he easily ignored. The other boy wouldn't dare go any further than that to express his annoyance at Tom's behaviour.

There was, perhaps, just over half a dozen other Slytherins and a few from the other houses which had merited the same level of notice from him during his years at Hogwarts. There were countless others who had been his obsession, but for shorter varying periods.

He would observe, learn and finally; own.

It was a character trait which even his 'friends' were aware of.

The only thing which ever changed was the uniqueness of the individual, the complexity of their character, the number of masks they wore. The only thing which ever changed was the length of his obsession.

Because, once Tom knew them; owned them, they were no longer interesting, no longer unique.

And his obsession would end.

"Arcturus? Do you think I could borrow...?" Malfoy's words trailed off at the look his cousin was staring at him with. Normally, it would be more than enough to silence him but Black's notes were always exceptional, second to only Riddle's and Carrow's, and if, by some miracle he could get his hands on them...well an outstanding on an exam this important was bound to come with pain anyway. "...Your notes?" he finished hopefully.

Black's eyes narrowed in contemplation, no doubt judging the level of his desperation. "You may," He spoke slowly, a small smirk stretching his lips. "I will let you know when I want the favour repaid."

Abraxas smiled weakly at the calm, daring grey eyes laughing at him and reached out to grab the offered pile of immaculate notes. An open ended favour...Salazar, the blonde winced, silently chastising himself for his impulsive tendencies. It still sent chills down his spine remembering what his cousin had demanded of last year's Hufflepuff Head Boy, Doyle, in remuneration.

"Thanks."

Arcturus ignored him.

Tom, meanwhile, lost himself within the incredibly rare, dark tome resting against his knees.

He had only just managed to scrape together enough money to buy the book he was now reading in Knockturn Alley this Summer, and he had been devouring the enormously detailed and long pages ever since.

Four weeks into the start of school and he was only a quarter way in. The book had cost a veritable fortune, certainly many more galleons than Tom had ever possessed. But he had wanted the book. So, he sold the plethora of expensive presents his acquaintances had gifted him with over the years, amassing, as he had suspected, a ridiculous amount of funds. However, even with the large bag of gold weighing down his pocket Tom had still been a few galleons short. He had had to give up the luxury of some much needed new school robes and the more costly potions equipment to meet to the price.

But he hadn't regretted his purchase for a single moment. He was skilled enough in transfiguration that a permanent conjuration of pristine looking black school robes was veritable child's play to him. And his Slytherin friends were more than happy to order him the very best potions ingredients when he had explained on the train how someone in the Leaky Cauldron had stolen them, undoubtedly a muggleborn.

Smirking into the pages, he recalled their scramble to be the first to deliver him the supplies.

Not too long afterwards, Nott and Greengrass stumbled through the door. Harsh, under the breath words were exchanged, the exam mentioned, horrified gasps. Merlin, they were tedious.

Apparently, all of his classmates had forgotten. In the back of his mind, he noted that Arcturus never once looked up from his own books and note writing to bother explaining anything. The other two arrivals hastily crossed the room, whispering about fails and expectations between themselves as they exchanged disorganised loose sheets of parchment and went to sit in the space between their beds.

The Greengrass and Nott boys were extremely close and had been best friends since infancy. Consequently, they were some of the only Slytherin's Tom knew that held no compunction in relation to freely sharing notes or knowledge with each other; but only each other.

Small sounds of parchment fluttering, quills scratching and soft whisperings invaded the Slytherin sixth year dorm after that. Tom would have normally placed silencing charms around his bed and the usual protective spells, probably some additional ones seeing as how all of his classmates were awake and gone to sleep; leaving the others to their exhausting all nighter.

But he didn't.

Tom's arresting grey eyes flickered over to the empty and unoccupied bed on his left.

The sheets and emerald duvet were immaculate. The cleanliness was something that Tom would normally welcome, but it did nothing but distract him in this instance.

Silently, he cast the tempus spell.

1:48am

His lips thinned.

Stubbornly, he forced his glare to return to the black ink words of his book. The curse in front of him, when he mastered it, would be glorious to behold. Absolutely magnificent, the sheer spectacle it would present...subconsciously, slate drifted to his left, the unwrinkled green mocking him in its perfection.

"Greengrass." Tom spoke at a normal volume but, in the silence of the dorm, the unexpected noise shocked the occupants as effectively as glass shattering.

Bevin Greengrass breathed deeply, recovering from the shock of the sharp call of his name before replying. "Uh, yeah, Riddle?"

Tom ignored the curious looks the others were now watching the exchange with. He would normally never initiate conversation, especially this late at night, without an express purpose. "Was the celebration downstairs winding down when you came up? Were there many people still participating?"

The short, plump boy with cloudy green eyes scratched the back of his head for a moment while he forced his mind to stop focusing on potions and concentrate on Riddle's question. Trying to ignore the way those grey eyes were boring into him, fully alert.

"Well, I guess...yeah, most people had left. I don't think it's still going at the moment, in any case. Why?" He grinned unattractively, his eyes glassy in his intoxicated state. "Mood to party suddenly struck you, Tom? Looking for a little company, eh? Well, we all know you won't have any problem finding willing partners! Why, I'd bet you could even convince some of the more prudish ones to go in for a threesome if you ever wanted to!" He was the only one laughing.

Abraxas raised an amused eyebrow while Arcturus, for the first time, looked up from his nearly complete essay, his interest plain to see. Bevin's friend, Gregory Nott, shot him a poisonous look, his worry obvious, clearly telling him to shut up.

Tom fixed the boy with a cold stare. Evidently, the flow of firewhiskey at the celebration hadn't been slow. There was no other possible explanation for such an idiotic comment from the Slytherin, or the maintenance of his drunk, goofy grin in the suddenly tense, expectant atmosphere.

A slow grin stretched across Riddle's perfectly proportioned mouth. "No." Tom answered simply, flicking his wand and watching as the stunned idiot banged his head painfully against the stone floor as his body fell.

Nobody, not even Nott, battered an eyelash. Bevin was a fool for allowing himself to consume so much alcohol that it affected him. While Slytherin's were intensely loyal to their own, they did not look kindly upon weakness. They manipulated and blackmailed each other and if you wished to survive you learnt quickly to improve on your faults. Letting yourself drink to such excess that your inhibitions were lowered was inexcusable because it was an avoidable weakness.

Anyone in Slytherin would have cursed the boy. In fact, it would probably have been with something far more malicious than a stunner. Such mercy from Tom Riddle was strange. But the thought of mercy was quickly wiped from the other three's thoughts with the prefect's next words.

"Don't wake him."

Gregory Nott looked as if he would protest for a moment before his face took on a resigned look at the eyebrow Riddle raised.

Bevin Greengrass would not only miss the opportunity to do some lack minute cramming for the important exam, but if he didn't wake up on his own, something highly unlikely considering it was Riddle that cast the stunner, he would miss the test and receive a zero.

Harsh, but not so unforgiving that the others weren't able to immediately return to their study; full of passive acceptance.

At the sound of the dormitory door squeaking open and a pair of feet shuffling in as quietly as possible, most of the room's occupants glanced up before sneering, grimacing and glancing away in disgust.

Tom didn't bother to raise his eyes to the loathsome sight he knew awaited them. The disgusting feel of the other's magic was more than enough to indicate who it was.

Abruptly, those same hesitant steps came to a halt, no doubt surprised by all his classmates still being awake. "Oh..." The boy coughed uncomfortably under the hostile stares, "sorry, I didn't know anybody would still be awake, Hadrian said that you all...never mind." The meek voice grew softer in volume and cut off quickly.

Tom felt an all too familiar rage simmer inside of him at the casual reference to the Carrow heir and couldn't help shifting his eyes up.

His dangerous stare effectively silenced whatever irrelevant conversation the plain, red headed boy was about to voice. The party downstairs must truly be finished if the Mudblood was here, he realised. Sawyer had learnt the hard way that he wasn't welcome at any of the house celebrations. The pathetic coward always covered his hide as best he could and made himself scarce until he could return to his dormitory without the fear of running into anyone in the common room. Tom sneered at the sallow skinned boy, his distaste for the other blatant.

"Sorry, Riddle." Grant Sawyer stuttered hastily.

Those pathetic brown eyes were fixed on the stone floor but Tom didn't need to see them to know what the Mudblood was feeling. Fear, worry, the familiar anger and humiliation for both the way his dorm-mates treated him as something beneath contempt and his own inability or courage to stand up to them.

Tom didn't deign to answer him, letting the silence lengthen and quickly become oppressive. Predictably, sunken mud eyes and bony shoulders swiftly broke under the pressure, glancing upwards hesitantly.

Pathetic.

Pathetic...because Tom knew, and he allowed that mocking knowledge to shine cruelly from his unique eyes. Grant Sawyer; the coward, sadist, victim, cunning, spineless and malicious Mud-blood lusted after him just like everyone else. The Slytherin Mud-blood hated him, there was no question of that but it was a hatred fuelled by unrealised want and obsession. The pathetic creature he had been forced to share living space with for five years now was just as enamoured with him as everyone else in Hogwarts. He desired his regard, notice and even his respect.

As if the foul being could ever engender anything other than potent abhorrence and loathing within him, the boy's disgusting wants and dreams were far from hidden from Tom. But he did wonder whether the boy was consciously aware of his sexual desire for him yet.

Sneering at the way Sawyer flinched at the cold mocking in his gaze, Tom returned his attention to the text in his lap. The specific nature of the boy's presumptuous, disgusting lusts may be, at the moment unknown to the boy, nevertheless, they seemed to be glaring up at Tom every time the Mud-blood so much as looked his way.

Tom heard Malfoy sniping aggressively at the mud-blood to keep it down when the idiot tripped over a discarded white shirt on his way to bed. The blonde heir never bothered to explain or remind his classmate about the looming examination as he had freely done for the others.

To say that Grant Sawyer's life was hell in the Serpent's House would be an understatement. But his abuse was never taken to the level the loathsome thing deserved. Unlike any past Mud-blood unlucky enough to be sorted into Slytherin, the boy enjoyed a level of unprecedented _protection_...

Tom's eyes flashed with fire and familiar rage.

Lost as he was in his thoughts, unconsciously, Riddle's handsome, slate eyes drifted.

...Focusing silently on the perfectly, made-up, four poster bed beside him.

...

With a silent snarl, he turned away.

Feeling a breeze against his right cheek as a body swept quickly past him, Tom's fingers twitched in the direction of his wand, the desire to curse the hated idiot enormous.

Clenching his teeth together in anger, he restrained the urge to visit painful violence upon Sawyer as he had done countless times over the years. It wasn't as if he wouldn't curse Sawyer if he really wanted to, but unfortunately the coward had a habit of avoiding trouble. The kind where Tom would be justified in his attack, the ruthlessness he would deliver on the boy would probably raise some eye-brows but, undoubtedly, it would quickly be accepted. After-all, he wasn't the only one having to curb his violent tendencies in regards to Sawyer.

Not letting his thoughts turn to the reason for both his and his house's unprecedented self-control, Riddle forced his mind to return to its engrossed state as he read about the highly unethical and finicky nightmare inducing curse.

...

Grant Sawyer let his breath out silently as he made it back from the bathroom and to his bed safely, having just finished his morning shower.

He slowly looked around the large dormitory; taking in his classmates' various states of undress and the unconscious form of Greengrass for which he still had no explanation for. But he certainly wasn't feeling suicidal enough to ask, even if he were dying of curiousity to know why Nott wasn't waking his best friend. After all, it wasn't just breakfast that the guy might miss if he didn't wake up soon but a pretty important potions exam. One they all needed to pass if they wished to continue on in the subject next year for their NEWTS.

Grant, satisfied that no one was paying him any heed, turned back around to begin dressing for the day.

He wasn't normally quite so nervous in his own dormitory but this morning, he glanced further down the room to the still perfectly made bed, he was on his own. And unfortunately, the sight of that unslept in bed, had become a more and more frequent reality as they grew older. And, on mornings such as these, when the owner of that immaculate four poster was absent...he sighed, flipping down the collar over his tie, his situation became exponentially more precarious.

The steady, yet, soft mutterings of his classmates around him suddenly began climbing in volume, successfully distracting him from his self pitying thoughts. Grant shot a silent look towards the guaranteed Head Boy of next year, repressing both his hatred and fear.

The incredibly handsome Tom Riddle was currently throwing on the uniform's black outer robe, leaving it hanging open.

Sawyer had often wondered whether Riddle left the robe open purposefully. It wasn't strictly against dress code but the Slytherin was always such a stickler for appearing to do everything correctly that he had always wondered if the dress decision was more than simple habit.

The open robe allowed an unobstructed view of Riddle's impressive physique. The crisp white shirt hinted at what Grant knew was a washboard stomach and enviable six-pack, while the black slacks did nothing to distract from his body's lean strength and effortless elegance.

The tall young man was so utterly perfect at everything he did already it didn't seem fair that that perfection extended to his physical form and features as well. Grant thought bitterly, watching Riddle with envy so intense it was chocking.

Trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible he sneered slightly, confident that he was as invisible to his classmates as he always had been, observing the way Riddle distractedly picked up his comb and ran it three times through his black hair.

The prefect didn't bother checking his hair or appearance in the mirror even once. That might seem like a small thing, but to Grant, it was only one more demonstration of Tom Riddle's overwhelming ego and confidence. Even so, it wasn't disgust for the sixth year's arrogance that had him turning away and glaring down at his mistake riddled Charms essay, clenching his teeth tightly. It was the fact that even if Riddle had looked in the mirror, he wouldn't have needed to alter a thing.

No, he didn't think that the robe thing was purposefully done. Because really, Riddle didn't need to boost his appearance, he was undeniably attractive already and the man would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to realise the affect his physical features had on those around him. And Riddle could never been accused of not knowing his affect on those around him.

Feeling uncomfortable and flustered with his thoughts, he hastily stuffed his essay into his bag and leaned one leg on the side of his bed as he reached for a quill and ink bottle standing half full on his cluttered bed side table.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the Black heir was looking at Riddle strangely, as if he couldn't quite decide whether he should voice his thoughts or not. Torn between wanting to leave and not become part of what might become a tense situation, Arcturus was rarely indecisive, and sating his curiousity for gossip, Grant found himself mentally cursing Hadrian's absence. If he were here, he would feel far more comfortable staying to hear what was going on, reasonably confident that Carrow would protect him against any unprovoked attacks.

"Mona was looking for you, Tom." The Black heir's tone was filled with innuendo when he finally voiced his information.

Grant couldn't help his raised brows as he purposely stopped moving, making himself as small as possible against the wall as he watched, riveted.

Mona Owens was a sixth year Ravenclaw who was known by everyone. She was beautiful, intelligent and ambitious. A very much desired individual within Hogwarts, she had had several boyfriends from both this and the previous year's seventh years. Quite an accomplishment and very telling when dating tended to be contained within year groups.

Then again, this was Riddle. Grant had never seen the other take an interest in someone, man or female, and not succeed in conquering them. Still, he hadn't known Owens had been given the male prefect's attentions.

"She spent the whole party alternating between singing your praises and complaining about how you never want to speak or spend any time with her anymore." Arcturus expanded slowly.

The seemingly effortless way that Riddle could play every single person around him was only one of many reasons that Sawyer hated him; hated how much it made him envy him.

With no small amount of annoyance, Riddle looked up from where he was slinging his bag over his shoulder with a frown. The Black heir usually acted with more intelligence than he was exhibiting right now by provoking his friend's irritation for no reason. No matter how attractive Mona Owens was, he was certain that, ultimately, she was no more significant to Riddle than any of his other partners.

"What's your point, Black?" Tom asked, staring more intently at the male Black than he usually did. Riddle tilted his neck slightly as a thought occurred to him. "Do you like Owens', Black? Is that why you're forcing me to listen to the moronic drivel masquerading as conversation coming from your mouth?"

Arcturus shrugged sheepishly, smirking. "Yeah, you mind?" He asked causally as he too swung his book bag over a shoulder in a casual show of natural grace that all purebloods seemed to possess.

Riddle didn't bother to answer, he just walked out.

"Guess not." Arcturus grinned.

"I told you so." His cousin stated pointedly as the two followed after the prefect.

"Better to ask than step on any toes." The voices faded as they moved further away and Grant hated the fact that his shoulders lowered as the tension leaked from the muscles.

He was in the process of leaving himself when he stopped, indecision gripping him. Nervously, he fiddled with the strap on his shoulder as he alternated between staring at the open door and the undignified heap of Bevin Greengrass. His classmate really couldn't afford to miss this exam, none of them could.

Then again, he reasoned bitterly, as a pureblood he could probably talk his way out of his predicament and get another opportunity to take the test.

Still, his eyes finally focused on the heap in determination. If he woke Greengrass up when his 'friends' hadn't bothered, surely the Slytherin would feel indebted to him. He might actually start treating him better than the scum on the soles of him shoes.

It might actually lead to a situation where he wasn't black and blue every hour of his school life because his _friends_ wouldn't let that happen.

Not just because Grant had _his_ protection.

It might truly be safe falling asleep in the snake's den for a reason other than the threat of pissing off Hadrian Carrow.

After all, Riddle would have to take into account Greengrass's opinion of him, right? And then Tom would have to see his worth! Yes, he was a muggleborn but he would go places, he knew he would!

Resolve strong and optimistic for the future, Sawyer pointed his wand in the Dark heir's direction and spoke the counter.

An incoherent grumble of pain sounded from the slowly shifting figure on the ground as Grant returned his wand to his robe pocket with a self satisfied smile of accomplishment.

...

Grant took slow breaths as he reached the entrance doors to the Great Hall; his heart was racing with excitement and nerves. His companion had been silent apart from a few gruff questions and stony glares after he had first awakened. He had quickly informed Greengrass that it was him who had graciously awakened him when even his best friend would not, stressing the fact that it was due to his actions that he wouldn't miss the potions exam.

"So," he said quickly, he had to make sure this turned in his favour and Greengrass didn't just claim that he simply woke up. You could never be too careful with Slytherin's and he had been witness to some of the more merciless things his dorm-mates were capable of. "Where do you want to sit?" He deliberately made sure his words weren't a question. He wouldn't he allowing this opportunity to slip through his fingers.

Bevin Greengrass turned to look at him, disgusted.

"Excuse me? You dare...!"

"Yes! I do! Look, I didn't have to spell you awake, you know. I could have simply left you lying there as pathetic as can be and went on my merry way. But I didn't. You owe me! It's because of me that you're going to even make it to potions this morning! What the hell were you doing asleep anyway? Were you really that drunk?" Grant glared furiously. The guy was trying to weasel his way out of his debt! He didn't want to look bad in front of Riddle or the others and was planning to pretend that he wasn't so drunk that he would still be unconscious if it weren't for him!

"Listen, Mud-bl..."

Grant swallowed thickly at the sight of the wand pointed threateningly at his face and the furious red tint to the other's skin. He watched, silent, as Greengrass broke off mid insult, his own fists clenching at the well used, yet, still stinging term he was labelled with.

"Hmm, maybe you're right, Sawyer." Greengrass said slowly, smiling as he slid his wand back into his pocket. "I think you should sit with me for breakfast. After-all, you did do me a service and I am not one who does not repay his debts."

Shock. Grant was, despite his confident thoughts, shocked. He hadn't really allowed himself to hope that it would be this easy. He thought for sure that Greengrass would deny his involvement, forbid him from making it known or the others wouldn't believe him and without Bevin's support he couldn't approach the elite Slytherin's, especially Tom Riddle.

Quickly, he snapped his hanging mouth shut, conscious of the unimpressed stare of the boy opposite him and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Gre..Fine, I'm, um, glad...that we understand each other. That you recognise it properly." His stuttering start swiftly altered into a confident drawl and Greengrass smiled thinly, his cheeks tight.

"Of course, Sawyer. Well, shall we?" He gestured to the doors.

Grant nodded decisively taking a step forward before stopping and spinning abruptly to face his companion.

"Will Riddle be okay with me sitting with you guys? I mean, you'll tell him how I helped you won't you? Otherwise he might think me...presumptuous or something." He asked anxiously.

"You, presumptuous? Perish the thought." Greengrass smirked widely.

He glared, "I'm serious!"

"Oh, would you stop being such a coward! Come on! I promise," He smirked, "I will be sure to tell Riddle all about how it was you who spelled me awake with no impute or help from anyone, happy?"

"Alright." He breathed, feeling much better. He knew it wouldn't be good for his health to upset Riddle. He had to do this just right. A mixture of charm, humility, confidence and purpose. In essence, if he believed he deserved to sit amongst the pureblood elite of Hogwarts, they would believe it too. "Thank-you Bevin. And please, feel free to call me Grant." He smiled at the other genuinely. This was it. This was the point after which his life would change.

"...Right." Greengrass's face was the annoying blankness that all pureblood's could call up on command so he didn't know what he was really thinking but he hadn't snapped or told him no, had he? Hope and confidence swelled in his chest. It was working.

Together they entered the Great Hall. Several heads turned in their direction out of reflex, only for eyes to widen and whispers to neighbours to begin circulating. The more steps he took, the louder the whispers, the more eyes on them the larger his assurance and self-confidence grew.

This was real.

His eyes quickly found Tom Riddle amongst the Slytherin students. Amongst the best, most graceful, most handsome and beautiful and polished of the pureblood elite Tom Riddle was the best, the most noteworthy of them all. It was so clear and Grant allowed himself to smile widely, assuming the expression was a mix of charm and confidence; he had no idea that his own smug satisfaction was in no way hidden and his expression didn't conceal any of his self important emotions.

Riddle was reaching forward for the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him nodding occasionally to his conversations going on around him while his eyes swept the Great Hall. He had yet to notice them, Grant realised with some irritation and no small amount of shock. Tom Riddle was known for always being aware of everything going on around him. This morning, however, he was clearly distracted and, if the constantly roaming slate orbs were anything to go by, looking for someone.

"Tom..." Raising his eyes at the soft call, Grant watched as Riddle followed the direction of Arcturus's prompting chin towards their advancing figures.

Riddle gave no physical reaction that Grant could see to the unexpected sight of the duo he and Bevin Greengrass made. In fact, the trademark fluidity of his actions never faltered in the slightest. He continued lifting the pewter jug towards him; pouring the orange liquid into his glass before returning it to its earlier position.

The lack of reaction, Grant admitted, was highly disappointing and vexing.

"What in Morgana's name are they doing together?" Darla's loud exclamation brought a glare of disapproval from her twin and Grant's hand clenched into a fist at his side.

It had the shock and attention he had wanted but the negative kind, not the positive and avidly curious one he had been expecting. He had thought that with Bevin Greengrass at his side that they would hold off on the insults and insinuations until at least they had their questions answered.

And once they were, they would see that Greengrass was freely associating with him, he was capable of the enervate spell, one which was going to be taught next year. In other words, they would finally see that he was more than just another Mud-blood, there was more too him, that he was talented with magic and worthy of their respect.

He knew that he wouldn't gain a place amongst them until he proved this and he also knew that it would take a little time. But he was also certain that all he needed was the chance. The chance to show them who he was and what he could do.

Everyone in Slytherin seemed to be under the impression that he worshiped Hadrian Carrow because of the 'protection' the other had seen fit to bestow upon him in first year. It couldn't be further from the truth. He was certain that that 'protection' was the thing which had made the others think him weak. That he wasn't capable of looking after himself. He had been relegated to rut of the litter before he even learnt his first spell.

And it was all because of Hadrian Carrow.

It wasn't as if the Carrow heir had offered him his friendship either. He thought bitterly. No, he was someone to be pitied and sympathetic to. He was weak. Hadrian Carrow had made it so that he could never escape that label, that classification. It was because of him that the other purebloods had never given him the chance to prove himself worthy.

If it wasn't for Hadrian Carrow, Tom Riddle and he would have been friends from the start. He would have a solid place amongst these wizard and witches. He would have been sitting with them at every meal for years.

Hadrian Carrow couldn't even gain a place amongst them and he was a Dark pureblood heir! What did that say? He'd seen the way Carrow carried on, the way he associated with Gryffindors; and they actually liked him! In class he sat wherever it suited him to, uncaring whether his neighbour actually wanted his company.

Grant was certain that almost all of his supposed 'friends' simply put up with Carrow because of the power of his family. Afterall, if he was really as popular as he tried to make people believe then he would be a part of Riddle's group, wouldn't he?

No, it was only his looks and admittedly strong magic and relative intelligence that people put up with him, he was sure.

And today would be the day he shed the confining shackles that was Carrow's reputation, the one he had been stained with. This was his chance to prove himself. To show Riddle and the rest who he was and then, then he knew he would be accepted. It would take a little longer than it normally would because of his status as a Mud-blood but he would overcome that prejudice. Then he would assume his rightful place, the one he should have always had if it wasn't for Hadrian Carrow's blasted intervention.

Walking proudly up the isle between Ravenclaw and Slytherin with the Greengrass heir, Grant let his confidence expand and radiate outward. Now was the time to show them strength. His strength. And he knew enough of Riddle to know that the prefect despised weakness of any kind.

He saw the blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore watching the curious spectacle with interest as they came to a stop opposite the rest of the sixth year Slytherins. Both looked at Riddle's figure as he casually raised his glass to take a sip of liquid but he showed no sign of speaking yet.

Beside him, Darla Black's mass of black curls were practically sizzling with anger. "What the hell do you want, Mud-blood?" she spat harshly.

Grant didn't let the insult faze him. They don't know yet, Grant chanted internally, determined to show that he too could be unaffected and cool in the face of pressure and derision. He lifted his chin imperiously, "Bevin and I were hoping to have breakfast, Black. What else would we be here for?" There, that ought to shut her up, he thought smugly. After all, purebloods were notorious for only ever allowing a small, select number of people to address them by their first names. It was a privilege that had to be earned and his words would ignite their curiousity as to how he had.

Bevin Greengrass slid silently into his seat beside Nott, leaving Grant to stand there by himself. Irked, he threw what he hoped looked like a playful glare to the pureblood, it would show the others that they were comfortable enough with each other to have camaraderie between them. But really, could Bevin not hurry up and tell them already? Riddle's continuing silence was beginning to unnerve him.

"Mind your tone, Sawyer, lest I feel the need to forcibly change it." Darla smiled sweetly, rolling her wand between her fingers slowly. Even so, he'd have to be an idiot not to see the sadistic violence in her gaze and flashed the Greengrass heir a pointed look.

Nothing.

He breathed deep. Avoiding at all costs those penetrating grey eyes currently surveying him.

A drop of sweat began to trickle down his back as he noted Nott's disgusted glare directed at his best friend, Malfoy's icy threat and distaste and Rose Garret's sinister smile as she whispered and giggled with her friend, Stacey Moon.

He took a quick glance at the entrance doors, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see Hadrian Carrow walk through the impressive doors.

Raising a hand to tug gently at his suddenly stifling collar Grant turned beseeching eyes towards Greengrass. "Bevin...? Aren't you, I mean...can't you...why..." Quickly losing steam his confidence seemed to be draining from him at a faster rate than he thought possible.

And then, all of a sudden, his world was put back in place.

Without warning, Riddle's lips curved into a disarmingly charming smile as he tsked.

"Darla, really where are your manners? Please, Sawyer, sit...join us." There was a long pause before the invitation and the words were almost crooned as they were spoken in that unique silken voice.

Grant swallowed as discreetly as he could manage.

There had always been something about Tom Riddle's voice which had always put him on edge. It always seemed to contradict itself. A gentle baritone; smooth silk with perfectly enunciated words and rare class, yet, for some reason Sawyer had never been able to identify, that voice held a darkness. It seemed almost constantly sarcastic sometimes.

Nevertheless, he'd always been very quick to talk himself out of it, arguing that he was paying too much attention, letting his imagination run wild and reading too much into things. After-all, the young, loved by all prefect seemed to exist absent of any human faults.

"Wha...?" His mouth was gaping wide showing his astonishment and he couldn't get his words out.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Arcturus Black twitch in distaste and snapped his stupidly hanging mouth closed.

Riddle raised a questioning eyebrow at him, "I thought that you and Greengrass, oh, I apologise..._Bevin_, wished to join our party for Breakfast, this morning. Was I incorrect, Sawyer?"

His mind was playing tricks with him. He was sure of it. He had thought for one moment that he had seen a small smirk on Tom's lips but it was gone so fast...and his polite inquiry...he had noticed that Grant was on first name basis with the Greengrass heir, just as he had intended!

Despite the hesitant warning from his instincts he was powerless. That voice was just as irresistible as everything else that was Tom Riddle.

"N-n-no!" Grant cringed slightly as his enthusiastic stutter came out as a shout in a combination of his nerves and great shock. He took a deep breath, noting how all in Riddle's party physically drew away from him as if he were some sort of contagious disease. "I mean, no, you were not incorrect." He smiled, pleased with himself before his eyes widened and he hastened to add, "Thank-you."

Riddle smiled thinly at him, "Well, now that that is finally sorted, again...please, sit. Join us. You and Bevin are a somewhat unorthodox pair and I find myself interested in what promises to be a fascinating tale, I'm sure."

As he spoke he silently motioned for Malfoy to shift down a seat to the left. The blonde obeying immediately, regardless of the fact that the pureblood was voluntarily making space for a Mud-blood, before gesturing to the now empty space in silent invitation.

"Really..." Grant felt frozen as a wide smirk full of sparkling white, perfectly straight teeth smiled at him predatorily. "_I__insist_."

...

_Hey all! I know there isn't any Hadrian in this chapter but the word count got away from me. Don't worry, he'll be there, after-all, there've got potions next! ;D_

_Please, review and tell me what you think I would love to know and it always serves as wonderful inspiration!_


	4. Temptation of Apples

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Grant certainly didn't need to be told twice...well...he certainly wasn't going to hesitate any longer. His plan had worked just as he thought it would, the reality of it actually happening though was incredible.

The first day of the rest of his life.

That's how he felt as he quickly scooted into the seat in between Nott and Moon, desperately trying to stifle his grin. Once he had settled himself, apologising to the attractive honey blonde beside him as he accidently bumped her with his book bag while attempting to stuff it away under his seat; he looked up into the calm slate opposite him.

Riddle smirked lightly. "Please," he gestured elegantly with his right hand towards the array of dishes in between them, "help yourself."

Trying to appear undisturbed by the silent, judging eyes of the purebloods surrounding him, Grant nodded politely and reached towards the coffee in the middle of the table.

"So, Sawyer," Malfoy's abrupt words had his body jerking awkwardly as he automatically turned, desperate to make a good impression and pay attention. Unfortunately, in that moment he forgot that he was holding a heavy silver coffee pot by its cool handle. Horror swept through him as he lost his tight grasp on the silver handle, the large pot wavering precariously, seconds away from falling loudly into the large dish of scrambled eggs immediately in front of him. Frantically, in an effort to stop the impending disaster from occurring Grant's other hand shot out to grasp the silver body of the silver pot.

Immediately, the scalding heat from the conductive polished silver burned painfully into his palm.

"Ahh!" Grant's cry of pain was joined seconds later by several shouts of shock and anger from either side of him. The coffee pot, as soon as he had abandoned it to clutch his raw palm to his chest finished its journey and landed with a deafening 'clang' amongst the silver tray of eggs.

Silence.

Grant took deep breaths trying to blink back his tears of pain before the sniggers registered.

"Oh God." He breathed, absolutely horrified as he looked at Stacy Moon and Gregory Nott, both were covered , just as he was, with the sloppy yellow breakfast food.

The magnitude of his blunder had him staking, terrified in his seat as the murderous glares bored into him. Dreading it, Grant couldn't stop himself and looked wide-eyed towards Riddle.

Riddle's posture hadn't changed, his eyes were ghosting over the three filthy figures silently but he himself was as immaculate as ever. Grant flinched in reflex, certain he was about to suffer a painful curse as Riddle's wand flicked silently.

The grease and dampness of the breakfast food on his skin, clothes and hair abruptly vanished and he stared startled as Tom casually returned his wand back up his sleeve.

"I must say Sawyer, rarely, if ever, have I found someone to have such trouble pouring a cup of coffee." Riddle intoned sarcastically but the anger Grant had been expecting simply wasn't there, at least, he couldn't see it.

Grant swallowed with difficulty, "I'm sorry, Malfoy startled me."

Tom smiled thinly. "Yes, conversation during meals would be unfamiliar to you, I assume. Where do you normally sit?"

He flushed with embarrassment, silently berating himself; he had just been so nervous!

"He normally sits with the younger years, don't you Sawyer? I also recall seeing you with the Ravenclaws from time to time." Nott broke in.

Grant shot the boy an annoyed glance, he would have rather that humiliating fact hadn't come to light. The reason he would sit with the lower years was clear. They were the only place at the Slytherin table he might not be cursed at.

"Yes, my cousin is a fourth year in Ravenclaw so sometimes I join her and her friends at their House table." He replied quickly, still mortified from the earlier fiasco and knowing that his humiliation was only a small dose of the pay-back he would suffer from Nott.

"How quaint." Riddle smirked.

"Sawyer, as I was going to say before your little...accident...I had no idea that you and Greengrass were so close. Please, I'm sure it's an interesting tale, regale us." Malfoy's polite words were a well wrapped command.

One Grant was only too happy to obey. He needed to minimise the damage his clumsiness had wrought and thankfully, he realised with relief, this was both his way to smooth ruffled feathers and slyly worm his way into this elite group he was desperate to be a part of.

Eagerly, he locked eyes with Greengrass and leaned past Nott in order to flash the other boy a grin, indicating a casualness in their conduct with each other which he knew wasn't really there; yet, he reminded himself with purpose.

"Well," he began, "it happened when I found _Bevin _asleep on the..."

...

It was the confident audacity in those mud brown eyes staring at him so expectantly that made Tom's decision easy.

Grant Sawyer had clearly grown arrogant and comfortable with the unique protection he enjoyed but Tom wouldn't allow this behaviour to go unpunished.

The sheer impudence was astounding. Tom could hardly believe that the Mud-blood could be so deluded as to strut up to him and casually announce who he was having breakfast with. He could humiliate him publically right here in the Great Hall, it would be a devastating blow to the muggleborn but, Tom realised, that punishment simply wouldn't be enough for this arrogance.

The boy was a fool. An ambitious, over-confident parasite. It had been a mistake to allow the Mud-blood so many privileges, one he would take great pleasure in correcting.

No, he didn't simply wish to humiliate Sawyer, he wanted to destroy him. So, with a charming half-smirk and a pleasant invitation Tom indicated to the space opposite him. He watched the next moments unfold with barely concealed glee. The boy was making this even easier. His clumsy mess and arrogant relaxed attitude towards the purebloods surrounding him was quickly building their ire.

That combined with the delightful mistake that Sawyer made in awakening Greengrass during punishment would appease Carrow's strange moral code. Afterall, Carrow's protection only held for unprovoked attacks, the Mud-blood had not known the criteria under which he enjoyed his protection but Sawyer's natural cowardliness had meant that he had unfailingly adhered to it.

Tom knew that Sawyer thought he had it tough in the Serpent's den and perhaps he did, the Carrow heir never really interfered unless the conduct involved true pain or damage. Nevertheless, in relation to what he should and would have suffered if it hadn't been for Hadrian Carrow the idiot lump had had it easy.

And now, with his own actions fuelled by envy and an over-inflated sense of self worth Grant Sawyer was his to do with as he would. And if Carrow's moral integrity did decide to rear its head, Tom wouldn't be holding back this time. He had kept to the rules; mostly, now that Sawyer had stepped over the line, it was Carrow's turn to back off.

This was going to be fun.

"How fascinating." Tom murmured, watching as those brown eyes lit with triumphant awe, as if the boy couldn't quite believe this was all happening. "Greengrass, clearly the debt you owe Sawyer is one which is indeed hard to repay." Tom smirked at his pureblood housemate seeing the anger and revulsion in his gaze, "Still, I'm sure that Sawyer will soon comprehend exactly what his actions have earned him."

The small smiles and vindictive eyes around him twinkled with understanding and a ruthless agreement. Oh yes, Grant Sawyer would suffer for his egotistical ignorance.

"Tom, my boy! I couldn't find you at the celebration last night, a magnificent win for Slytherin, wouldn't you agree?" Slughorn grinned happily, pleased with the undeniable quality of his House's team.

Riddle turned slightly in order to smile calmly at his Potions Professor as he spoke his agreement.

"Hadrian was brilliant as always. That boy is one of the very best fliers I have ever seen, I tell you. Why, when you watch him it often seems as if he were born to be in the air, wouldn't you agree Mr Black?"

Arcturus smirked, "Indeed Professor. I have rarely been able to find fault with his ability on a broom, although, I do know that his trademark dives and loops have often been cause of concern for his parents."

Darla snorted at her brother's comment, "That would be an understatement, brother." Slughorn frowned slightly in disapproval of her unladylike behaviour but soon dismissed it in favour of potential gossip. "Oh?" Slughorn pressed. "How so?"

"Well you've seen the way Hadrian fly's Professor, surely you can imagine a parent's reaction to seeing their six year old heir doing the same stunts?" Abraxas intervened before Darla could launch into a spiel on the reckless behaviour of Hadrian and his Father's reaction to his constant dare devil risks.

Their Head of House chortled with amusement and readily agreed. Tom and Hadrian were by far his favourite students, though Tom took great pleasure in knowing that he was Slughorn's absolute favourite.

"I hope you are all ready for your Potion's test today? Of course I know that you are, Tom, I never doubted that."

Riddle inclined his head in a carefully crafted humble gesture of thanks. "Of course, Professor. In fact, most of my classmates were up most of the night making sure of that very fact."

"Goog, good and..." Slughorn's grin lost a large part of its brilliance as his eyes settled on the unusual figure amongst the group. "Mr Sawyer, of course, I saw what happened with the coffee from the Head table, in fact the noise and commotion was missed by few in the Great Hall I'm afraid. You might be in for a spot of teasing from your fellow classmates, Mr Sawyer, no matter how fast Tom here was able to banish the mess. Still, I want you to keep in mind that that sort of thing can happen to any...well, it can happen. And don't take it too hard."

Tom suppressed his smirk of amusement but saw his other housemates were making no such effort at Slughorn's subtle insult with his very purposeful pause and change of words. While their head of house didn't actively bully below par students or based on blood status he did not actively assist those he realised as fools or ordinary and was quite capable of the subtle barb every now and then.

Sawyer shifted uneasily in his seat, "Yes sir, thank-you sir."

"Well, I'm glad to see that you are all getting a good breakfast in preparation for the test, it's the mark of a responsible student to always show up on time and take responsibilities seriously." He intoned as if he were imparting on them a small wisdom.

Tom was about to make a polite acceptance wherein this conversation would come to an end but was interrupted.

"Excuse me, sir!" Tom levelled the boy with a deadpan look as he slowly turned around in his chair. The poisonous glare Arcturus was shooting at Sawyer did nothing to dissuade the Mud-blood either. "But do you know where Hadrian is? His bed was unslept in and I'm worried that something may have happened to him, especially with the test right after breakfast."

And with those words Riddle knew that he was witnessing something very special right now. A Slytherin, whose stupidity outweighed their notorious self-preservation instinct, Sawyer certainly did live in his own little dream world, didn't he.

Darla drew in a sharp breath while Abraxas stiffened noticeably, other incredulous and angry reactions nearby quieted the conversations in their immediate vicinity. Tom hid his smirk behind his cup as he sipped the black tea. Sawyer just kept digging that hole deeper and deeper didn't he? Was he looking to get murdered in his sleep, because he was certainly on the path to quickly obtaining the active assistance in a successful suicide attempt.

Sawyer was clearly attempting to get Carrow into trouble, an empty bed, in a dorm which pulled an all nighter was evidence of breaking curfew, while the jab at Hadrian being absent when the Professor had just said that it was a mark of a responsible student...well...again, far from subtle. Tom's eyes narrowed in consideration, not overly concerned. He had witnessed Carrow wriggling out of binds which even he would have been hard pressed to escape, this was child's play.

"I'm sorry, Mr Sawyer? Might you clarify?" Slughorn had an inkling that Sawyer might be trying to get Carrow into trouble but no doubt was hesitant to form that opinion due to the sheer ludicrousness of such a move on the Mud-blood's part. Never bite the hand that feeds you, had never been so pertinent.

Disloyalty. To a pureblood heir.

A pureblood heir generally liked but always respected. You couldn't curb an entire house's urge to make Mud-blood Sawyer suffer as Carrow had as a first year without influence.

Riddle smiled.

Darla and others may insult Carrow but Tom knew that the fact that the _Mud-blood_ was insulting the only person willing to shield him from them wouldn't be tolerated. The lack of loyalty would be repulsive to the pure-bloods who had grown up knowing that they might not like one another but they would protect each other. The loyalty in purebloods was a trait which served Tom well. Once it was gained...priceless.

Slytherin house may hate the fact that Sawyer had Carrow's protection but for Grant Sawyer himself to not respect Hadrian... the fact that Sawyer in all his muggle-born lack of manners would casually refer to Carrow as Hadrian.

"Of course, Professor," Sawyer was licking his lips in both anxiety and excitement. Clearly, the chance to bring the Carrow heir down a peg or two was a salivating notion to the young wizard, an urge which made him blind to the displeasure of his housemates. "When you were speaking of the importance of punctuality I was reminded of the fact that I haven't seen Hadrian since the match yesterday."

Tom's gaze darkened, his mind once again flashed back to that perfectly made bed, the unwrinkled emerald duvet and open curtains. His hand clenched in a fist beneath the table.

He didn't like that it was a Mud-blood reminding him of the lack of the Carrow's presence and he didn't like the fact that that lack bothered him. It always bothered him. Because that unslept in bed was hardly a rare sight in the morning anymore.

Slughorn coughed uncomfortably, obviously coming to the conclusion that Sawyer simply couldn't be that stupid and was sincerely worried about his classmate. "Yes...well, boys will be boys, you know." He laughed while Tom very carefully set down his cup, not amused in the least.

"Yes, but!..."Sawyer gasped desperately, clearly floored by the Professor's reaction, or lack of reaction.

Tom inwardly sneered at the boy, what did he think Slughorn would do? Give Carrow detention? Even if , by some miracle, Carrow was caught breaking rules which he couldn't talk his way out of, then the Professor's fondness for the student and the 'minor infraction' would almost assuredly mean the loss of a minimal number of points for appearances sake.

"Moron." Arcturus muttered icily under his breath beside Riddle as Slughorn ignored the boy and left the hall.

Why was the Mud-blood being so hostile towards the Carrow heir in any case? Had something happened that he wasn't aware of? Tom didn't like the idea of not knowing something like that. No matter, he'd know if there was anything of significance by the end of the day.

Pushing his negative thoughts concerning that empty bed aside Tom chuckled lowly and rose from the table swinging his bag over his shoulder. Without prompt his companions stood to follow him.

His back to the still sitting Mud-blood Tom smirked before wiping the expression from his face as he stopped and then slowly turned around. Deliberately, Riddle allowed his eyes to slowly run down and then back up Sawyer's body, amused, yet, disgusted to see the boy's eyes slightly dilated and a faint tremor in his uncovered hands. How pathetic.

"Sawyer..." He paused, letting the silence lengthen before tilting his head to the side in a considering manner. "Walk with us?" Without waiting for an answer he turned and swiftly moved towards the dungeons the sound of scuffing shoes and jogging steps coming from behind.

Just outside the Great Hall Darla and a few other Slytherins split from the group heading to other classes just as their tag along caught up.

Breathing heavily and wearing a wide grin, Grant Sawyer skidded to a stop, falling into step with them, "Thanks Tom, I wasn't sure if yo..." His self important but no less excited words cut off abruptly as Tom's wand was suddenly jabbing painfully into the tender skin directly beneath his jaw.

Slate eyes were narrowed while small red speaks dribbled from the top of the yew wand, "I did not give you permission to address me by my first name, Sawyer."

"But..." The exclamation stopped as the wand pushed harder, the painful whimpers coming from the boy indicating that both the pressure and burning from the wand sparks were hurting him.

Tom could not have cared less. Still, he didn't want the punishment he had planned ruined so he resisted the urge to put the boy in the hospital wing for the next fortnight and reluctantly lowered his wand.

"You must earn the right to such casual forms of address, Sawyer." He hissed softly. "Understand?"

"Y-yes." He could see the resentment in those unremarkable brown eyes but he could also see the need to prove himself, envy and hope.

He smirked. "Good boy."

...

Grant couldn't help the enormous grin almost splitting his face in two as he saw the students around them do a double take when they noticed him amongst the elite Slytherins of the school.

It was a dream come true! And more importantly, he deserved this.

In his OWLs last year he'd received an E in potions, unlike Darla Black and some other of his pure-blooded housemates. He was better than them. Sure he'd not made it into some other NEWTS subjects but he was in DADA and he was a powerful wizard, he knew that he was.

This was his due. And Hadrian Carrow couldn't stop him.

He'd had this theory since half way through last year that Hadrian had singled him out in order to make himself look more powerful than he actually was.

He'd made that blunder at breakfast and then calling Tom by his first name instead of Riddle. He didn't know what the big deal was; he knew that pure-bloods were terribly serious about the tradition of only using first names when certain respect, familiarity and knowledge were shared between persons.

But really, Hadrian called them all by their first names and he was sure that those three things didn't exist between Hadrian and all his other classmates.

He was being singled out again.

It had to be his blood status.

No matter, Grant tossed his fringe to the side as they entered the potions lab, single-file, he relegated to the back. He would overcome their misconceptions.

They only viewed him as beneath them because they thought him weak. He couldn't blame them for that. It was Carrow's fault. But now, now he was out from beneath the oppressive shadow and he wouldn't be wasting his chance.

Everyone took seats, most with who they normally partnered with but this exam was to be single potions. Individual work, so there were some changes.

Walking on auto pilot, Grant halted abruptly.

Riddle was alone.

Up at the top desk on the left side of the lab the stool beside Tom was empty. Carrow normally sat there and he wouldn't even think of sitting beside Riddle if this were a normal class but this test was individual and other people were sitting beside others there wouldn't normally.

He wanted to sit next to Tom. And he would always be Tom in his mind, not Riddle.

Carrow couldn't care less where he sat and Tom didn't have preferences amongst their classmates. He was closer to Arcturus Black, sure, but not to the exclusion of the others. Tom was basically cold to everyone indiscriminately.

That's why he didn't take what happened in the hall personally. At least, not much, Tom couldn't help the prejudices Carrow had fostered concerning him. But he would correct those in time. He was certain of that.

And power was far more important than blood status, he'd seen Tom interact politely with a fifth year Ravenclaw that was muggleborn. Grant knew that that student was top of his year and he'd heard the Slytherin's talking about him having power.

And Grant had power.

Hadrian Carrow couldn't stop him anymore.

With that motivating and triumphant thought the only thing in his mind, Grant stalked forward. His eyes focused entirely on the back of Riddle's head.

"Wha...?"

His forward momentum was halted abruptly as someone grabbed his arm from the inside of his elbow and pulled; hard.

The black eyes of Gregory Nott blinked back at him as he looked down at the person holding him still. Nott was wearing a dark scowl as he glared at him and Grant could feel his own eyebrows draw down to form a slight frown.

"Where do you think you're going?" Nott murmured softly but his tone was harsh.

Sawyer attempted to pull his elbow free of the arresting pressure. "I'm going to go join Riddle, Gregory," ignoring the hiss at the use of his first name, Nott was certainly no Tom and he couldn't look weak by folding under his disapproval, he was sure that this was just some sort of test to measure his worth as he'd seen them do to countless others. He continued. "As you might have seen, there aren't any other people without a partner."

It never occurred to him that the Slytherins wouldn't ever bother to test him as they had others because they had already analysed him and found him lacking.

"Who do you think you are, Sawyer? Carrow is Riddle's partner, not you. So, stop drooling after Tom, it's unsightly." Nott growled, taking care to keep his voice down.

"This isn't partner work!"

"Merlin, you're thick, sit down and shut up. It's not your place to waltz up to Riddle and invite yourself to sit beside him."

"But Carrow isn't even...!" They were gaining attention now.

"Students, can you all get your quill and ink ready, ah, Mr Sawyer, please take your seat I don't want any delays" Professor Slughorn said as he walked into the room from his back office.

Grant glared at Nott. "Yes, of course Professor."

His arm was freed and he set off towards the front ignoring the angry hiss from behind him. What did Nott know anyway? He wasn't particularly close to Tom; he had no business telling him what to do.

Half-way up the small isle Slughorn called his name with a confused frown on his face. "Mr Sawyer, what are you doing? I asked you to take your seat. We are in a hurry."

The slightest edge of annoyance laced those words but Grant just smiled what he thought was a disarming grin trying to imitate what he had seen Tom do countless times. The startled look on his Professor's face gave him confidence that he had gotten it correct, not knowing that Slughorn was slightly put off by the full teeth grin smiling unerringly up at him.

"Oh, I know Professor, I'm..."

His reply was cut off by the slamming of the heavy wooden door as it hit the stone wall at the back of the classroom.

Everybody turned in their seats to look at who came through the door so loudly and the sight that greeted them brought about a series of reactions; rolling of eyes, small smiles of fond exasperation, relief, grins and grimaces of dislike.

Hadrian Carrow stood in the doorway grinning in apology.

Grant's lips thinned as he took in the incredibly handsome figure. Black hair still wet from a shower was only slightly less unruly than it would be once it dried. His white shirt was half untucked from the grey pants and his silver and green tie lay undone around his neck.

"I'm sorry I'm late..." Carrow began as he pulled out the pristine black outer-robe of the uniform from his book bag and shrugged it on as he stood in the doorway. Grant saw the green robe of the Slytherin Quidditch team fall out of his bag which was hastily pushed back in by the dark heir. "Professor, I hope I didn't cause you any trouble?" he asked politely but his confident blasé manner made it clear that even if he had he didn't really care.

Grant sneered. Horace Slughorn laughed, clearly delighted and amused by the spectacle.

"No, no, of course not young Hadrian, we haven't even started yet, as you can see. Don't you worry; I quite well remember how these things are." As he chortled he winked at Carrow in a conspiratorially manner which several people grimaced at looking horrified, but Hadrian simply grinned as he reached into his book bag and retrieved a red glossy apple.

"You don't mind sir, do you?" The Carrow heir indicated towards the apple in a self explanatory manner and Grant saw Slughorn hesitate for the first time.

"Oh, Hadrian ordinarily I would but with the test today I just can't..."

"And of course, I brought you one as well, Professor. They're from my family's orchard in France and my Mother just sent me a bag of them via owl this morning." Carrow was now holding two of the beautifully red blushing apples and smirking lightly at his Professor waiting patiently for his answer.

Grant almost scoffed. If Carrow really believed that that would work than he would...

"Oh, well...I mean," Slughorn cleared his throat before smiling and nodding his acceptance. "As it is off your family's orchard, then, who am I to deny?" He laughed and Hadrian smiled widely as he took a large bite out of the fruit the clear crisp crunch of a large segment of the apple breaking off heard throughout the classroom.

"Thank-you, Professor. I'm hungry so I can promise you that the food won't last long and won't disturb the test conditions."With that Carrow floated the other apple over to their Head of House much to the man's glee.

"Thank-you, Hadrian. Now, will you take your seat and we will, oh, Mr Sawyer, you're still there, well, can you please take your seat also and then we will begin."

Grant clenched his hands into fists at his side as he slowly walked towards his seat at the very back of the classroom. As he passed Carrow he heard Stacey Moon whisper laughingly "Only you Hadrian could have gotten away with that. Couldn't you have at least tucked your shirt in?"

"Have you ever attempted to change while sprinting?" Carrow chuckled lowly as he flashed a charming grin which had Moon giggling.

Carrow didn't even acknowledge him as they walked by but as much as it would have annoyed him to know that the heir was ignoring him it was infuriating to recognise that Carrow simply didn't see him.

It was always like that. Hadrian Carrow didn't talk with him, study with him or anything like that. He simply defended him if it was needed and then went on his merry way.

Grant sat on the stool and watched as Hadrian inclined his head to Riddle as he took another large bite from the apple and Tom turned his head, swept him once fully with his eyes, an observation which didn't seem to bother or tense Carrow in the slightest, before Riddle replied to the greeting.

Carrow used Tom's first name and he was nothing like the other purebloods. He wasn't refined, dark, quiet, elegant or introspective. A buffoon was a more accurate description.

But that wasn't entirely true. Grant knew that Hadrian Carrow loved the Dark Arts; he was simply good at light magic as well. He and Tom were similar in that way. And Carrow was always graceful, no matter what he was doing, laughing as he was slouched in the couches in the common room or accepting an award. His gracefulness was more natural than the practiced grace of other purebloods, something Tom and he again seemed to share, because Grant had yet to see Tom execute a movement without elegance.

Hadrian Carrow was difficult to comprehend.

But Grant was sure that the others simply humoured him because he was an heir to an ancient pureblood house. He truly would be nothing without his name. Like what Moon just did, laughing with him, he simply entertained them but they didn't respect him.

Yes, Grant smiled in satisfaction. That's what Hadrian Carrow was.

The court jester.

...

_AN: 8th December 2012 - (Concerning Enduring Obsession)_

_First let me just say that I am still here and alive, but, most importantly-still writing. Don't worry I haven't given up on any of my stories but my focus is on Persona's and EO's at the moment. I think I'm going to alternate updates for those story's for a while but I want to update EO's first (just a chapter Persona lovers!) so it can get a little more established. _

_Now, the reason for this AN: I know exactly where I want to go with the story so writer's block isn't the problem here but I do have a small complication that I'm caught on how to proceed with. **I'm hoping that there might be a few lovely readers out there which would be open to being a sounding board of sorts, one which I could bounce some of my idea's off of.** I just need some fresh perspective on this point because as soon as I figure out how to work through this plot point my chapter update is only days away. _

_Anyway, if you're interested just PM me and we'll go from there. Thanks all!_


	5. Sage

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

...

_AN: Thank-you to everyone who PM'd me to help with my plot dilemma, it was great to hear some other opinions._

_..._

"Alright class! Everybody, please, focus." Professor Slughorn raised his voice slightly to gain his class's attention. "You will have one hour to complete the potion on the board." Here he flicked his wand behind him and white chalk wrote out the words 'blood replenishing draught' on the large blackboard in large, flowing script. "As you are very well aware this is a closed book, practical test so any notes found on your person will result in an immediate fail if you are unable to explain their existence in a way that satisfies me."

Tom noted the way a few people in the class hastily took any loose sheets of parchment lying around them and stuffed them into their school bags, out of sight.

"I shall tell you when you have five minutes and then one minute left, so you needn't monitor the time if you do not want to. However, when I say that time has finished everyone must stop brewing immediately. If you do not manage to finish you will simply be graded on the steps you managed to complete and marks deducted for an incomplete potion. Any questions?" The portly wizard asked the obligatory question with a raise of his brows and when he received none nodded. "You may begin."

Calmly, yet, as efficiently as Tom seemed to do everything he arranged the necessary ingredients in the order in which he would need them in front of him before setting out his potion instruments neatly.

The sound of a loud, sharp crunch of what Tom knew was an apple segment breaking off from beside him had him pausing in his mechanical movements for just a moment and his shoulders stiffening slightly underneath his pristine black robes. His reaction to the unexpected sound was very small; hardly anyone would have noticed his annoyance even if they had been staring at him directly let alone a person currently engrossed with pouring a fairly strong acid into a warming cauldron.

Still, like always it seemed, normal didn't hold with Hadrian Carrow.

When Carrow let out a small huff of amusement, detecting his irritation, Tom couldn't stop himself from turning slightly to give his housemate an unimpressed look.

Hadrian merely offered him a crooked half-smirk, "Relax Riddle, I won't disturb your working conditions for much longer, I promise." Emerald eyes twinkled laughingly at him, amused by his annoyance.

This time Tom turned more fully in his direction fixing him with a blank, silent look.

Carrow rolled his eyes at the Slytherin male prefect, "Keep your pants on, Riddle." He murmured softly under his breath wisely making sure no one other than Tom heard his flippant comment. Tom's eyes flashed darkly but before he had the chance to do anything, the dark heir was already bringing his wand up and silently vanished what was left of the fruit from existence after taking one last large bite.

Carrow lifted a single brow as if to say 'happy?' before he returned to his potion. It was always like that between them. Compromise. Tom would let the comment slide and Hadrian vanished the apple as Tom wanted out of courtesy. Nobody amongst his peers would ever think to act so casually around Riddle but Carrow had never seemed hampered by convention or hierarchy. Not to say the other wasn't aware of its inner workings. Earlier he had known that his comments to Riddle had to be private, had they been overheard by others Tom would have had to retaliate or risk looking weak. Carrow did what suited him and if that meant following certain rules in particular circumstances, he would, but the wizard was unpredictable. If he didn't feel so inclined he could have just as easily flouted convention inviting the ensuing action.

He was a puzzle.

The two young men worked silently and steadily throughout the next hour, Hadrian's graceful movements, as always, something Tom found himself noting with approval and pleasure in the back of his mind.

Tom added the last ingredient to his potion and watched as it changed to the correct colour and consistency with satisfaction. Glancing up at the clock above the blackboard he saw that he still had ten minutes until the lesson ended. He sat back onto the stool and began searching his book bag for his unfinished transfiguration homework, not bothering to look behind him; he already knew that nobody else in the class had finished yet.

Slughorn's voice announcing that only five minutes remained didn't hinder his concentration in the least as he continued to review his notes. The movement from beside him, however, did.

"One minute left!" Slughorn bellowed, his voice startled several students and they jumped many glancing up at the clock anxiously before returning their attention to their potions.

The hum of nervous activity that always seems to penetrate the silence of exam rooms lifted in intensity as his classmates scrambled to finish. About half of the class had begun finishing shortly after the Professor announced the five minute warning and more joined them in increasing numbers as the deadline got closer. Still, Tom couldn't help his wandering eyes as he noticed that his potions partner showed no signs of stopping. Without conscious permission his eyes flicked sideways and took in the unfinished potion of Hadrian Carrow. It was almost done but the required violet colour was too murky, he observed silently.

Despite the frantic energy of around one third of the students racing to finish, Hadrian's movements stayed steady and smooth, seemingly unbothered by the mere seconds he had to complete his potion. Actions unhurried, Tom watched from the corner of his eye as Hadrian bent to turn down the flames beneath the cauldron. Most people had finished by now, Riddle noted as he stood to collect a sample from his own perfect brew. As he reached for one of the small, glass vials a hand suddenly invaded his vision hovering over his stalk of sage.

"Can I borrow this?"

Glancing swiftly to his right Tom was met with bright green eyes staring at him patiently despite the mere seconds left. Slate eyes flickered down to the ingredient. Sage, of course, he realised. It wasn't part of the instructions but the properties of the herb, administered in the exact quantity needed would perfect Carrow's brew.

Curious to see if the other would get the precise quantity correct he nodded his assent.

Immediately, Hadrian's hand took the green stalk, swiftly snapped off a section and dropped the twig of sage directly over the potion liquid.

"Time!"

Just as the Professor called the word both Hadrian and Tom watched as the herb hit the surface instantly changing the violet colour clearer and Tom knew he was looking at a potion as perfect as his own.

"Thanks Riddle."

He'd known the other boy since they were both eleven and neither had ever asked the other for a single thing. Until now. No matter how small, a favour was a favour and Tom had to curb his urge to smirk as he realised that he had something over Carrow, at least until he was repaid the value of said favour.

Without acknowledging the dark heir's thanks Tom began collecting his things together. Presuming his housemate was merely packing away his own things the feeling of Carrow moving beside him didn't slow his actions.

"Harriet, I had no idea you were sitting behind me today, what a stroke of good fortune!" Hadrian exclaimed good naturedly. Tom doubted very much that Carrow hadn't noticed the blonde behind them; experience had taught him that the slytherin was always aware of his surroundings. "I wonder if you could spare a stalk of sage?" The inquiry froze Riddle.

The Hufflepuff girl behind them giggled quietly before answering, "Sure Hadrian." And Tom just knew that the blonde idiot was blushing brilliantly as she eagerly handed over the requested item.

"You're brilliant." Carrow's charming words didn't miss a beat. Giggling erupted from the two girls behind them as Hadrian turned back around holding out the sage for Tom to take.

Those bright green eyes were sparkling merrily at him in exactly the same way they had done when he was eleven and had angrily shaken off the grip of an obnoxiously laughing boy pulling him headfirst towards a slowing moving Hogwarts Express.

"Again," Carrow's voice stressed, "Thank-you."

The emerald orbs betrayed their owner's amusement as Tom begrudgingly reached out and took the repaid favour, levelling the field of play once again.

...

_Hey all! I know that it is shorter than normal but I really thought that this first real interaction between Hadrian and Tom deserved its very own chapter. The next chapter is already in the works and will be up pretty soon though. :D_

_I'm dying to know what you think of Tom and Hadrian, here. So, please review and tell me! I'm terribly curious you know. ;D _


	6. Pasty White Ankles, Frayed Black Socks

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

...

_Thank-you to all of you who reviewed last chapter, I always love reading what you thought!_

_..._

Grant rubbed harshly at the irritated skin on his right forearm as he trudged down the stone stairs heading towards the Slytherin Common Room.

Like always, there was just the slightest dampness in the air in this part of the castle. The other three houses never ceased complaining about the freezing temperatures but Grant quite liked it. There were more shadows to hide in within the extensive depths of the school than anywhere else and he had become very good at hiding over the years.

But, he reminded himself, as a grin stretched across his lips; he would never have to hide in Slytherin territory again.

Today had been the best day of his life.

Between every class, he had walked the hallways as a member of the slytherin elite, head held high, respected by all his peers. A part of that exclusive group, he had sat with one of them during every class.

Once potions had finished, they had leisurely made their way through the castle to the charms classroom. In the past he had had to race there like a fool in order to be on time, but today...Sawyer shook his head in amazement as the memory of walking into that classroom five minutes late only to find that the Professor had waited for their arrival before beginning, flashed again through his thoughts.

Everything was going exactly as he had known and hoped that it would.

He had again sat in the seat offered to him at breakfast during lunch, and although he had been upset and embarrassed when he heard the whispers about his clumsiness that morning, buzzing around him, he didn't really mind because everything was falling into place.

Sure, Darla Black and Stacey Moon had thrown lethally sharp barbs at him throughout the meal and most of the other purebloods had at least one or two scathing remarks to say about his gaffe this morning, but he knew that it was all done in harmless teasing.

He had been accepted by Tom Riddle as one of them, they would now be watching him and analysing his every move and that was exactly what Grant wanted.

Yes, his potion this morning hadn't come out...quite like it should have, he still had no idea what he'd done to make it go that dirty grey colour, but that class had never been his strongest subject.

But in charms, he had been able to perform the spell before half of his classmates could and he knew that they were surprised by his strong performance in Defence today.

His best subject hadn't failed him. He was the sixth person to work the new shield charm they had been learning. Tom and Hadrian Carrow had been the first and second in the class though both had managed to cast the spell at practically the exact same moment, so Grant didn't actually know who was first.

Then some Ravenclaw had beaten Arcturus Black to third place and a Gryffindor girl had nabbed fifth spot from him, managing the shield only two minutes before he had.

But sixth spot was very impressive, he knew. He had beaten every Slytherin in his year except Arcturus. Riddle was a given, and although it annoyed him, so was Carrow's powerful performance.

In his mind, the only downside of today was his accident in Herbology.

With it being the last class of the day he had missed out on dinner in the Great Hall and the incredible experience of sitting across from Riddle, surrounded by dark pureblood slytherins, accepted by them and looked on in awe and envy for his place by the rest of the school.

He had always wanted that. Craved the recognition and jealousy of others because of what he had and was.

By the time the nurse had treated his injury in the hospital wing it was too late though and he knew from experience that his peers would be in the common room right now.

They would all be occupying their usual spots by the largest fire with the most comfortable seats. They would be talking softly, in groups, doing homework, playing wizards chess and gossiping.

Normally, he either retreated to the library or a small dark corner in the common room trying desperately to remain unseen as he watched everything Tom and the others did, his desire to be a part of the scene growing.

He deserved to be among them. Grant knew he did and soon, any doubt that some still harboured would be blown out of the water. He was certain of that. Certain that all he had dreamed of, sitting and talking and rubbing shoulders with them as if the experience were so normal to him he had no inkling of exactly how special his membership made him.

Today had only solidified his theories of Hadrian Carrow's sneaky scheme to hold him back and make himself look good in the process. Grant Sawyer was born for their type of life, it fitted him.

Smiling smugly down the stone corridor, he recalled the indecipherable looks that Riddle had sent his way several time's today, and knew. Grant was sure that leader of slytherin house had taken notice of how effortlessly he had fitted into the elite social group.

As if he had always been there. The thought was almost enough to make him tremble with happiness.

"No!" He blurted out loud with an enormous grin, thinking of a better phrase, "No, 'like the last puzzle piece no one knew had been missing until it slotted into place'!" He laughed in delight at his own metaphor.

He felt excited, yet nervous, when he reached the portrait hole and spoke the password.

The muggleborn slytherin would join their group activities tonight as an equal, a wanted member. Still, Grant couldn't help the cowardly wish that he had been able to attend dinner and walk back with them as a part of the unit. He wouldn't have had any cause for nerves if that had happened; instead, he simply would have followed them to 'their spot' and without even a blink of doubt, taken a seat.

It would have been seamless. His manner casual and confident, showing every single person who disbelieved that he belonged.

Regrettably, now he was going to have to walk across the common room alone as he approached them. Grant felt a lump form in his throat as the memory of that space seemed to expand right before his spineless minds-eye.

Shaking himself, Grant scowled darkly at the floor.

He shouldn't feel anxious at all. He had been welcomed by Tom and no-one would go against the young man, no-one.

He had heard and seen enough through his years in the shadows to know that appearance was everything. So, as the portrait swung open Grant straightened his shoulders and marched purposefully down the stairs and across the room.

His eyes had locked on the back of a head of raven hair as soon as he had entered and his stare didn't waver as he moved towards it.

Sawyer had spent enough time watching Tom Riddle to recognise him in any context. Most of Riddle's back was facing the entrance except for the smallest segment of his profile. He occupied a large, over-stuffed, black leather armchair, his neck slightly bent over the pages of the book he was reading.

Breathing deeply he heard the way conversations quietened to a murmur as his destination became clear. It wasn't the all encompassing shock that the Slytherin house had experienced when the Mud-Blood, Grant Sawyer, had had the audacity to approach the highest tier of their house's hierarchy this morning in so brazen a manner, but there was a restless curiousness hanging in the air now.

Grant Sawyer was completely unaware that many of his housemates watched him and Riddle, not in awe at his new position or realisation of his true power, but with barely hidden anticipation.

Many were certain that Tom had just been waiting for the relative privacy of the common room to act against and punish the up-start.

Confidence, Sawyer chanted the word over and over in his mind, confidence is the key.

"Urgh! You will not believe what I had to put up with from the new nurse." Grant gestured widely towards his forearm and the thin pink scar there as he swept into the centre of the group. "I really don't think that she's qualified. She can't be much older than me!"

He had heard them complain about the new school nurse a couple of days ago in the dorm room and was certain his remark would be met with the same appreciative chuckles and 'yea's' as Malfoy's had been.

Instead, he was greeted by absolute silence.

Those wizards and witches that made up Tom Riddle's 'court' either turned or glanced up, until each and every one of them was staring at him with a blank, emotionless look.

Uncomfortable and confused, Grant raised a hand to the back of his neck, scratching the skin there, mind racing in an attempt to figure out what he should do now.

The action prompted many of his housemates to sneer in distain; even the most innocent and naive of them knew the importance of hiding emotional weakness. The Mud-blood's body language betrayed his feeling of awkwardness with a transparency that was contemptible.

As covertly as he could, Sawyer glanced around for a free space on one of the couches that the elite's had commandeered. He knew that he must look like a fool just standing there, unacknowledged, after acting so casually with them, but he didn't know what else to do.

He had expected an offer to sit from at least one of them by now and the requisite activity that followed as they made room for him.

Trying frantically to think of something to say, this wasn't supposed to happen, where were the enthusiastic greetings he had been anticipating?

The only thing that came to mind was, "Don't you think?"

When his own tone of timid hopefulness reached his ears, it was all he could do to stop himself from wincing. But the reference to his earlier scathing comment about the nurse was met, once again, with that damning silence.

...

What was going on?! He thought desperately, fiddling nervously with the strap of his book-bag.

...

That was when a soft, deceptively silken voice saved him.

"How did you end up in the hospital wing in the first place, Sawyer?" Tom Riddle's soft inquiry seemed to hold some sort of inner signal, because it was only then that the cream of slytherin relaxed. Gradually returning to whatever activity they had been engaged in before Grant had joined them.

"Um...," The sound stretched out as he tried to regain his equilibrium from whatever he had just survived.

But that was right! Realisation of the reason for their behaviour settled his nerves; he had forgotten that they would test him for his worth.

The tenseness in his muscles disappeared and he felt like sagging to the floor in relief. Based on their reactions and Riddle's intervention, he knew that whatever the test was, he'd passed.

Slate eyes were suddenly boring into him, and, blushing deeply, he remembered that he hadn't yet answered the prefect.

"Oh, right, the idiot professor brought in some monstrosity of a plant that almost chewed my arm off!" He explained loudly, not realising that his carefully crafted 'haughty tone' was nothing but a whine of complaint that had slate eyes hardening even further in irritation.

In the back of his mind he wondered again why he still hadn't been offered a seat. Worriedly, he wondered if he appeared brainless just standing there, shifting from his left to his right foot and then back again?

Should he just sit on the floor? Was that what he was supposed to do? Nobody else was, but where else was he meant to sit?

"Well, perhaps you wouldn't have sustained such a life threatening scratch on the arm if you had followed instructions." The sarcastic remark from Bevin Greengrass annoyed him.

First, it was much more than a scratch and second, Bevin shouldn't be so derisive towards the person who saved their potion's grade this morning.

He wanted to say something witty and caustic at the same time, to remind Bevin what he owed him, and show the peers now staring at him in mocking expectation that he was as skilled in verbal sparring as they were.

He opened his mouth several times, only to quickly close it again when no such words came to mind.

Clenching his fists tightly, he wasn't able to stop the flush that bloomed in unattractive splotches across his face when Greengrass smirked at him knowingly and the others snorted and grinned in amusement at his obvious ineptitude.

He felt even worse when he snuck a glance at Riddle only to see the young man smirking lazily as he turned one of the pages of his book, clearly having heard.

He consoled himself as best he could as their amusement died swiftly and thanked the powers that they had left him alone and didn't pursue his humiliation.

Returning to whatever they wanted to do, Grant was left standing awkwardly in front of the fire, his heavy back-pack hanging off his shoulder.

Pushing away his embarrassment at the 'friendly teasing' and subsequent dismissal, Sawyer looked down at the impressive, colourful Persian carpet at his feet and wondered at why they hadn't made room for him.

Stealing a quick peek at Riddle from beneath his fringe, then again at the thick carpet beneath him, Grant stared forlornly at the lack of obvious open spaces to sit; before, with a mental sigh of resignation he began to tentatively lower himself onto the floor in front of the fire.

Sitting cross legged exposed the muggleborn's pasty white ankles and frayed black socks, the uniform trousers were already too short for him and, unfortunately, his position made that fact obvious to all.

Feeling unsure and left-out and not liking the feeling, Sawyer twisted his mouth as he brought his book-bag around in front of him as if it were a shield.

His euphoria at being within the circle though could not be dimmed.

He knew he had to prove himself now that he had been given this chance. But he was also certain that it would only take a short while for the pureblood slytherins to see his worth now that he was out from under Hadrian Carrow's damaging shadow.

Sawyer cringed at the reminder of his forced affiliation with the white sheep of slytherin. It was so embarrassing! And the extra effort he would have to expend in order to remove that stain from his reputation amplified the resentment he felt for his supposed protector.

With renewed determination to start doing just that as soon as humanly possible, he focused on the conversation going on around him, wanting to be able to jump in at that perfect moment with the perfect words. That would get their attention.

"...Yeah, the attack was somewhere in Munich, Germany. The Prophet says that at least four hundred muggles were injured, one hundred and fifty eight killed and their government is saying this is was some sort of 'gang'? Was that the word they used? Just check for me would you, Darla?" Gregory Nott gestured to the paper said witch was holding open in her hands, and Sawyer watched as the female Black turned the paper back to the front page without a word.

The moving scene taking up at least three quarters of the cover made him recoil in horror.

On one side of the photo a six story building, it looked like a warehouse, totally engulfed by red, orange and yellow fire.

Most of the windows in the building were missing glass and people were hurling themselves out of them, uncaring of the fall they would face in their absolute desperation to escape the heat of the flames. Nearly all of the surrounding buildings were also on fire, the streets flooded with panicking people.

On the other side of the image stood three figures their calm and stillness so strange in the chaotic hell surrounding them. Wearing black robes with the deep hoods drawn, covering any identifiable features, Grant watched as the middle form slowly raised their wand and aimed it at that burning warehouse, a spell shooting out of the wood and impacting with the building.

It exploded.

The scene played over and over across the page on a three second loop. It was a confronting image, no denying that.

Black nodded her head as she scanned the short, sensationalised article. "Yes, 'gangs'. The stupidity of muggles never ceases to amaze me." She stated, noticeably unaffected by the picture directly in front of her.

Grant knew that most muggleborns would be up in arms at the callous disregard and misrepresentation. And it was true. Wizards and Witches had an unfair advantage in their access to memory charms.

But he didn't consider himself 'muggle'. He was a wizard; it was the best thing that ever happened to him. It made him better than his non-magical family and he had come to despise the easy prey muggles were to even the weakest magic user.

He simply wasn't able to respect any being he could dominate. Just as his association with Hadrian Carrow, his muggle roots were a barrier in this new, better world and he had come to be offended by that tarnished connection.

To Grant Sawyer, muggles were weak and he wanted nothing to do with weak.

It was strange perhaps that Grant probably hated muggleborns and muggles as much as most slytherins did, considering he was a Mud-blood. But his mind had always possessed a great capacity for self-delusion.

He hated muggles, yet, he was a muggleborn.

His mind found the solution in his second year at Hogwarts. He wasn't a muggleborn, at least not like the rest. He was different. He was powerful, Slytherin, smart and resourceful, the stigma couldn't possibly apply to him.

He was an exception.

It wasn't logical and it didn't make sense but it was how Grant Sawyer saw the world.

"Were any magic users injured or killed?" Malfoy asked his cousin.

The photograph had shocked him with its violence but he felt no pity whatsoever for the confused muggles that were his kin.

Darla shook her head, "No, well," glancing up over the paper she smirked at her brother, "at least no real witches or wizards. There was a squib that died and her mud-blood niece who was visiting her at the time of the attack was injured in some way, but nothing else."

"I'm surprised the story even bothers to mention them." Abraxas shrugged.

Grant snorted with laughter, immediately gaining attention. "Yeah! As if anyone cares about them!" he stated the words confidently, safe in his knowledge that with his audience being who they were his opinion wouldn't be met with anything but the strongest agreement.

In the future, with the benefit of hindsight on his side no less, Sawyer still wouldn't have been able to tell you how even that opinion had turned out badly for him.

Tom's head rose and he regarded the Mud-blood with one eyebrow raised. Not interested enough to inquire himself, he chose to just observe for the moment.

Nobody said anything in the immediate silence. Was the Mud-blood mocking them? The tone hadn't sounded sarcastic but the idea that he was serious was too outlandish.

"Was that supposed to be some sort of sarcastic barb with undercurrents of muggleborn rights, Sawyer?" Stacey Moon snapped, angry that she didn't know exactly what the tiny brain of the Mud-blood had meant.

"What?!" Grant gasped in shock, alarm paling his expression.

He began to clarify his meaning in an urgent, hurried manner, not wanting there to be any misunderstanding on this point.

"No! I just meant that squibs are disowned by the majority of family's because of the shame, so they wouldn't really have any relatives in our world that cared. As for the Mud-blood's family, they wouldn't read a magical newspaper so what was the point in mentioning them. That's all I meant." He thought it was all very logical.

...

"_Mud-blood_, Sawyer?...Funny expression for you to be throwing around, isn't it?" The voice that filled the stunned hush was cool, cultured and dark. The barest hint of interest was detectable in their tone but for Grant, the most noteworthy aspect of that voice was its familiarity.

If there was but one word to describe Hadrian Carrow in that instant, it was...nonchalant.

Leaning against the closest marble column to the group, his arms were folded, pristine white shirt rolled up to the elbows, ankles crossed on an angle and no outer robe in sight.

One might have described his look as dishevelled and that was true, but there was an innate elegance in Carrow's movements, body and features that didn't allow it to cross the line into 'messy'.

Suave, that's what he was, and Grant hated him for it.

The pureblood didn't deserve the gifts he had been given. No drive, no ambition, no street smarts. Hadrian Carrow would spend his life being used for his money and looks by people like him, people that possessed the less obvious qualities that really mattered.

Anger bubbled inside of him as those condescending words registered. He was doing it again. Carrow was using him to boost his own image in the political games of slytheirn. Reminding everyone of his status on the day that he had been accepted into their ranks was a calculated move to undercut him.

He desperately wanted to tell Carrow where he could shove it. Yearned to tell him that he wasn't fooling anyone! That there wasn't more than a half a dozen infatuated souls within the castle walls that didn't know him for the disgrace of a pureblood that he was.

To say to his face, while everybody was present to hear, that while Grant might have been born into a muggle family and couldn't change that, Hadrian, a pureblood heir, voluntarily mixed with mud-bloods.

Hadrian Carrow was in far more danger of being targeted in these attacks than he ever was, for Grant might be muggleborn, but he was loyal to magic while Carrow was a flithy blood traitor.

But he didn't have the courage yet.

It was his first day in the privileged ranks and he had yet to show them that being a mud-blood didn't matter when it was in relation to him, that he was better than purebloods like Carrow. Until he did that, Hadrian Carrow might still win their fight if initiated now.

But, 'his protector', he thought with a sarcastic sneer, could only cower behind his blood status for so long. Power was what mattered and he had plenty of that.

So he was remained silent.

The others could see Hadrian taking in Sawyer's presence among them with amused curiousity, but he didn't say anything, just shook his head briefly before pushing off the column and walking forward.

When it became apparent that he was intending to join them, something that had become an increasingly unusual circumstance as they grew older, quick glances were exchanged. Abraxas, having seen he had the most spare-room, raised his hand to catch Hadrian's attention and began standing up to in order to shuffle down.

"No, stay where you are Abraxas, being cramped up on a couch with two other people isn't what I would call comfortable." Carrow waved the blonde away as he withdrew his wand from behind his ear and without effort, silently conjured a blood red coloured recliner chair.

...

Tom couldn't help but smirk in amusement at the pinched expression on Sawyer's face and the way the boy glared hatefully at the perfectly conjured chair and then miserably at his own uncomfortable patch of carpet.

No doubt, living as he did in a fantasy world, the boy couldn't understand why Carrow was offered a place to sit and not him. Fool.

The boy was pathetic.

Barging into their presences so brazenly he had to compound the insult by forcing upon them useless idiotic dribble that Tom had no doubt the other thought very fashionable and cunning.

If he hadn't indicated to the others to settle down with his small innocuous comment Tom wasn't sure what state the Mud-blood would be in right now.

He had managed to insult so many people in so many different ways throughout the course of only a few hours that Tom was almost impressed.

Except that being in the other's presence made his skin crawl and his magic hiss with displeasure. His sick delusions, audacity and sheer stupidity had made him an object of his disgust before, but the level of his revulsion had reached new heights as the day wore on.

Grant Sawyer deserved something very special in punishment and he would take the utmost pleasure in ensuring that pain.

Watching as the Carrow heir dropped his bag onto the floor and sank into the depths of the clearly comfort oriented chair; he couldn't help but comment, "Interesting colour."

All conversation stopped when he spoke, both out of respect and curiousity.

One of the shut eyes popped open to look at him before shutting almost immediately. "If you are in some way alluding to a Gryffindor quality in my choice, Riddle, allow me to correct your misconception," Hadrian rolled his shoulders and sighed in contentment, "the colour of my chair is not crimson but a blood red, and Ican think of no reason why the founder of our house might object to decor in a colour that I'm told he was more fond of than either green or silver."

Appreciating the humour Riddle smirked. "True."

Those emerald orbs opened and locked with slate before he released a bark of laughter and nodded his own acknowledgment.

Soft conversation hummed as the exchange came to its natural end and as Tom returned to his reading. From the corner of his eye, he saw that his obsession had reached into his bag and pulled out what looked to be a stick of charcoal.

His guess was confirmed seconds later when Carrow took out a thick sketch pad and flipped it to a page at least half way through the book. Then his hand was flying.

"Hey, Hadrian?" Malfoy called.

"Hmm?"

The white blonde wizard leaned forward in his seat with a large smirk, "Why weren't you at the party yesterday? Where were you?"

Tom's eyes paused in their sideways movement across the page. No matter how aggravated his immediate impatience for the other's answer made him, he couldn't deny how closely he listened.

"Out." The response was short and the emerald eyed wizard didn't glance up from his drawing, eyes narrowed in concentration, teeth chewing absentmindedly on his lower lip. It wasn't rude, per se, but it was also plain that Carrow had no intention of telling him anything.

The refusal to answer was like scent to a blood hound. Gregory Nott interrupted Abraxas before he could start, "Yes, we know. But where?"

Without deigning to lift his head Hadrian answered the enquiring boy in a casual voice, "Why don't you first tell me, where you were during that twenty minute bathroom break you had during Defence?" Silence. "Can't say that the fully thirty seconds Helen Minster of Ravenclaw waited before asking for a hall pass, and the both of you coming back within minutes of each other was the most stealthy behaviour I've ever seen."

Tom stifled the urge to roll his eyes when the ensuing spluttering from a red faced Nott and the predictable cat-calls and whistles filled the air.

Hadrian looked up with a devilish grin, "Well, that, and the giant hickey on her collarbone."

Laughter erupted at that final tack-on while Darla just sent them all looks of disgust. "She's a half-blood, Gregory."

Nott's blush faded quickly more shocked at being caught so unawares than anything else and he just shrugged, "Just a bit of fun." He finally got some words out around his large, leering grin.

Riddle called on his patience; he had learnt that it was better to let them have their immature fun and banter and just block it out but the unexpected input of their new 'guest', he thought with a sneer, surprised him.

"Besides, Darla," Grant Sawyer jumped in with an ugly look on his face. It was anger, frustration, jealousy and determination all in one. "Didn't Hadrian go out with her last year too? And you aren't exactly known for passing up opportunities for 'a bit of fun', Hadrian."

That well of stupidity just kept getting deeper and deeper, didn't it?

It is astonishing how many insults to how many people can be uttered with just a few words, Riddle marvelled with sadistic glee.

Letting his book rest down against his knees, Tom focused his entire attention on what was happening before him.

The muggleborn slytherin was blatantly trying to refocus Darla's anger and disgust at Gregory Nott, a pureblood, mixing intimately with a half-blood, onto Hadrian Carrow by reminding all present of their fling. It was more likely merely an encounter if Tom was remembering the attractive girl correctly.

Combining that with the unconcealed scorn and barefaced insult against Carrow's reputation while using his first name?

Emerald eyes were immediately piercing angry mud-brown.

"...Excuse me?" Carrow asked with an arched brow as if daring Sawyer to say it again.

Riddle was intensely interested in how his obsession was going to handle this. The Mud-blood hadn't a spine to speak of, and before today hadn't displayed any signs of the self destructive behaviour he seemed to now exhibit with every smug and supercilious gesture.

With a sweeping gaze, he took in Arcturus's arctic glare, Darla's furious magic that was sending sparks of violet through her wild mass of black curls and Gregory's satisfied anticipation.

He raised a brow at that one; he had heard something about Sawyer sending Nott into such a rage as to almost make him loose his cool in public. The insipid coward really had managed to outdo himself today. To generate the amount of loathing being shot at him right now?

Moon, Greengrass and Malfoy looked to still be in too much shock at the depths of the Mud-blood's stupidity to react yet, but it was Carrow he was most interested in.

As always.

Grant puffed out his chest, looking around him with a hopeful expression as if he thought there was actually a chance that someone would back him up.

Searching brown caught his own grey eyes and he watched, revolted, as deluded hope and false courage swam into those feeble depths. Superimposing his own wishful emotions onto him, Tom Riddle; had him clenching his wand in a white knuckled fist within the folds of his robes.

That the Mud-blood even dared to dream, to hope that about him had him seething.

Sawyer turned back to the mocking gaze of his protector, "Well you did, didn't you? You slept with her. I'm not lying." He pressed.

For the first time Hadrian frowned in warning, his amusement waning.

Tilting his head to the side, Carrow ran his glowing eyes down the length of the muggleborn's pitiful figure in contemplation. It was probably the first time Carrow had ever given the wizard even a fraction of his focused attention, Riddle realised and another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

After a few long moments of calculation, Carrow dismissed the Mud-blood with a trivializing flick of his hand.

"Sawyer," Hadrian crooned in a mockingly concerned tone, "The next time you're feeling frustrated and left out," he tsked like a parent scolding a child. "Leave me out of it. And for future reference?" The devastatingly charming grin he flashed the Mud-blood, dazed the boy for a moment, but his eyes took on a contemptuous sheen as the next words left his mouth. "Just because your sex life consists solely of your hand, closed bed curtains and certain moaned names, doesn't mean you can be bitter because my own is slightly more active."

Brown eyes widened to almost comical levels and Grant Sawyer seemed to shrink in on himself in utter mortification.

Did Carrow know his secret?! In the back of his mind he thought he heard one of the boy's crow "Slightly, my arse!" but couldn't concentrate on anything but the hole he wished was swallowing him whole.

Did he know who...?! The devastating thought ran rampant through his weak psyche. He couldn't tell.

But in a small place in the back of his mind, a place that recognised that Carrow was well aware of who the object of his lust was; there was crying, anger and hurt. Those emerald orbs had danced with such scornful hilarity at _even the idea_ of such fantasies, starring a certain male prefect coming true.

He can't know.

Grant convinced himself that he was simply scared that something would go wrong with his initiation at this stage and that was why the comment had hit him so hard.

No, Sawyer pulled himself together, the reassuring mental assurances calming his fast breathing and racing heart-rate. The words were just a vulgar, crass insult that Carrow was using to make him look like an inexperienced little boy in comparison to him.

Unfortunately for the slytherin muggleborn he didn't realise, but the peers he was so intent on impressing already knew him to be all that and more. They had merely appreciated Carrow's knife sharp retort.

...

Tom's glare was black as he levelled his stare on the bowed head of the loathsome coward at his feet, before the temptation to heap untold pain on the cretin became too much and he had to turn away.

He wanted to be furious with Carrow for involving him and on a level, he was.

But it was mostly the fact, that in all likelihood, his words had been true, that so effectively turned his mood foul.

Carrow should just consider himself lucky that the real crux of his words had seemed to fly over the heads of all those surrounding him. He had no wish to think about, let alone advertise Sawyer's sick fixation with him.

He was certainly no stranger to being an object of lust. He had used the fact of his undeniable attractiveness to those around him, no matter the gender, over the years. The effect of his physical attributes on what he knew to be otherwise very sensible minds was a source of amusement and arrogance, but it was tinged with scorn.

He appreciated beauty as much as most people did, but it certainly didn't rule or blind him.

But Grant Sawyer, whenever he felt the gaze of those covetous eyes on him, his skin would crawl with fury.

From that first morning in fourth year, when he had looked up and been unfortunate enough to connect with muddy brown eyes, reflecting that all too familiar emotion of hunger, the only thing he felt was contempt.

Contempt, because he had made his disgust for the Mud-blood plain since day one. He might have had his protector, but that certainly didn't stop the emotional and 'light' physical abuse Riddle and the others had put him through. It was beyond distasteful that the Mud-blood, who should despise him right down to his very core, was suddenly lusting after him.

Looking up, he met intrigued green eyes and realised that Carrow had been watching him. A small thrill flashed through him at the realisation, but that didn't mean he appreciated that the other now knew how repugnant he found Sawyer's infatuation.

"Tempus." Tom read the time from his spell, surprised to find that it was past mid-night.

"Merlin, I can't believe that it is actually that late!" Bevin Greengrass exclaimed.

Riddle shot him a quick glance that made the other immediately straighten from his slumped position. No doubt having seen some of the left-over anger his earlier thoughts had left within his unique slate orbs.

"I'm not really surprised, _Bevin,_" Tom smirked when Greengrass winced at the pointed reminder. "After-all, you had such a sleep in today." His smile was mocking and sharp.

He was in a foul mood and didn't care who knew.

Wisely, Greengrass merely nodded and didn't reply.

...

Grant could see that Riddle's sharpness had made the group restless and when Tom suddenly stood and started collecting his things the others followed his example.

Not wanting the night to end on the embarrassment of Carrow's pointed remark, Grant decided to try small talk. Couldn't go wrong with small talk, right?

"So, um, do you guys normally stay up this late?" He asked timidly.

Carrow's comment and the subsequent humiliating laughter of the others had really gotten under his skin. But he knew that it was more of a 'get back up on that horse' scenario more than anything else.

He wouldn't allow Hadrian Carrow to destroy this chance for him.

Arcturus Black turned to smile cruelly at him, "Come now, Sawyer. There's no need for you to act so uniformed. We're all very much aware of your propensity to spy on our comings and goings."

The accusation would go unanswered, because at that point, Riddle slung his bag over his shoulder, barked the male Black's name in warning and swept from the room.

Grant scrambled to his feet, desperate to get to the stair before Carrow did.

Order was important and although he had been relegated to the back of the line at all times today, he was certainly higher up on the pecking order than Carrow now.

A soft chuckle drew his attention and he looked up from where he was trying to untangle his bag straps from around his ankles towards the sound.

Hadrian was now standing behind his conjured recliner which, personally, Grant thought looked terribly garish and had enjoyed the disapproving remark Riddle made about the thing.

The pureblood was leaning his elbows on the head of the chair and looking at him with a crooked smirk he couldn't decipher.

"Did you want something?" He demanded rudely.

Unlike the others, he had no reason to be deferential to this fake.

"Yes." Carrow nodded with an amused grin, as if he found his audacity nothing more than amusing.

Grant waited several moments and then growled, "Well? What?"

An eyebrow cocked, "Impatient little thing, aren't you?"

He sniffed, "No, I just don't want to waste my time and that is exactly what you are, a waste of time."

"You most certainly are free with your opinions, aren't you, Sawyer?" His voice now possessed a tone that Grant recognised as a warning, but he didn't heed it. He had no intention of ever cow-towing to this brat.

"No more than you are." He shot back, angry that the other thought he could intimidate him. As if that would ever work, he knew a bluff when he saw one.

"Very true." Carrow acknowledged with the mocking persona of a teacher congratulating a student on an insightful observance. "But, what I meant...is that you are very free with your opinions of _me, _Sawyer."

Stiffening, he realised, for the first time, that they were totally alone in the common room and although mentally he knew that Hadrian Carrow wasn't man enough to be able to effectively threaten him, let alone back up those threats; for some reason he couldn't shake the sense that he walked a figurative tightrope right now.

"Is this about me saying that you and Helen Minster did the deed last year?" What was the saying? Best defence made for a good offence? Or was it, a good offence made for a good defence? Urgh! "Because it's not as if I was making stuff up, Carrow! From the way Hogwart's gossip vine tells it you certainly aren't saving yourself for anyone...many times over!"

Catching the honest to god scowl darkening Carrow's face, he rushed through his next words, determined to prove that because he was just telling the truth, Hadrian had no reason to be upset or angry.

"I saw your Quidittch robes fall out of your bag this morning in potions, you know! You didn't even make it back to the dorm this morning, did you?"

The pureblood heir released soft, spine tingling, dark chuckles of laughter into the otherwise still common room.

Without warning, those famous, indescribable emerald orbs locked with muddy brown and for the first time, Grant saw real anger simmering in their depths instead of the usual good humour. Instinctively, he backed up a step.

"You know, just yesterday I wouldn't have had to think about the possibility of stepping on any toes when it came to you," Hadrian said conversationally, no sign of the anger Grant had seen present in his voice now. Maybe he had just imagined it?

Staring at him in the gaping silence, Carrow tapped his index finger against the top of the chair five times never taking his considering eyes off the muggleborn.

The time between each tap felt long, very long.

Suddenly, Carrow bent down to shrug his book bag onto his shoulder before turning his back on Grant and heading towards the stairs.

As he walked across the room his voice floated back to the frozen and confused form of Grant.

"One piece of advice, Sawyer...? Silencing charms on the bed curtains are a _must_ when you're sharing a dorm...Night."

...

_What did you think?! ;D_


	7. How, Why and Apparently What

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

_AN: Hey everyone! A couple of people asked me what Hadrian meant when he said, _"You know, just yesterday I wouldn't have had to think about the possibility of stepping on any toes when it came to you," _The best way I can explain this is by referring to this section from Chp 4:_ "And now, with his own actions fuelled by envy and an over-inflated sense of self worth Grant Sawyer was his to do with as he would. And if Carrow's moral integrity did decide to rear its head, Tom wouldn't be holding back this time. He had kept to the rules; mostly, now that Sawyer had stepped over the line, it was Carrow's turn to back off."

...

Tom slipped through the door without a sound. Letting the white painted wood shut softly behind him.

He had watched as Carrow had walked into the dormitory, utterly silent, collected his things and without a word headed straight towards the communal bathroom despite the late hour. Riddle had noted the mud-blood's anger flushed face as he had stormed into the room mere seconds later.

Sawyer had seemed disappointed when no one asked him why he was so upset, drawing his bed curtains closed around his four-poster with a pout.

He had waited for his house-mates to quieten, to close their eyes in search of sleep before leaving his warm bed, his absence unnoticed.

Carrow was standing in front of one of the white, porcelain sinks. His chest was bare, pyjama pants riding low on narrow hips. He had a small, white towel thrown carelessly over his head, his left hand using it to dry his hair while his right washed his teeth. Escaping water droplets fell from his hair to land on tan shoulders, their individual rolling paths along his skin creating glistening trails down his toned back.

Tom allowed none of his appreciation to betray itself as he leaned back against the white tiled wall without a word, making no effort to fill the silence between them.

The stillness stretched.

Carrow's coordinated actions never faulted.

If he was disturbed by the quiet, or Riddle's unapologetic scrutiny, he never showed it. He made no attempt to initiate conversation, carrying on with no observable tension.

...

"He's mine." Tom broke the silence.

The hand moving the towel thrown over Carrow's head stopped moving for a long moment, before slowly pulling the material down; adjusting it until it hung around his neck in a casual way.

Brilliant emerald and untarnished slate locked gazes in the small mirror bolted to the wall above the sink.

Carrow abruptly broke the stare, leaning forward to spit out his toothpaste.

Using one of the towel ends to wipe his mouth clean, he finally turned around and leaned back against the sink's porcelain rim, folding his arms across his bare chest.

"Yeah..., I figured." Carrow flashed Tom an amused look. "It's not every day that the muggleborn makes such a leap in social status."

"Indeed." Riddle smirked, "Don't interfere." He cautioned.

Carrow raised a single brow at him, emerald eyes guarded. Tom was almost certain that he was thinking about what would happen if the situation became too cruel for him to ignore.

Tom smirked. "I'm not asking you."

Carrow straightened slightly, his eyes hardening with the 'order'.

Slate never faulted for a second.

Without warning, Hadrian's mouth twisted into a sardonic grin, and he let out a bark of laughter. His amusement possessed the exact same self-mocking edge that had been there all those years ago, when that train whistle blew as it started pulling away from the platform.

"No, you never do." Carrow observed with a speculative tilt of his head. "Alright." He nodded his agreement. "I won't interfere. It doesn't really bother me either way." He gave an apathetic shrug of his shoulders.

Tom let his brows rise in question, "Really?" He drawled. "I would have thought your conscience would protest." He mocked lightly.

Not wishing to analyse the reasons why he was enjoying their exchange, Tom consciously ignored the fact that his teasing had been genuine. He'd feigned such a show of camaraderie many times in the past; this, however, was the first time such banter had felt natural to him.

Carrow inclined his head in acknowledgment of the hit, and to Tom's surprise actually explained him-self.

"Sawyer seems to believe that he's quite capable of looking after himself. I can't say the thought of him being shown otherwise isn't tempting." Tom noted the flare of cruel darkness flash across emerald, catching it with knowing eyes.

He'd known since he was eleven that his helper wasn't as pure as he might seem to others. The Slytherin's had some idea of the real darkness in Carrow, there had been enough instances over the years which had ensured that.

But he didn't think that his housemates were aware that Carrow had the capacity to be as cruel as Tom was. He wasn't sure if the pureblood consciously hid that part of himself, ashamed perhaps of what he was capable of if pushed. Maybe he didn't wish to tip his hand. Whatever his reasons were, Riddle had known since that first unguarded look into emerald eyes through steam thick air, Carrow possessed darkness as inherent and treacherous as his own.

Not that his relaxed, easy going persona was false; frustratingly, it was all too true.

Where Tom was about control, absolute total control of both those around him and himself, Carrow revelled in chaos.

It didn't mean that his obsession wasn't any less dangerous than Riddle was; all it meant was that they were fundamentally different people.

That entirely different, entirely similar core...fascinated him.

"I intend to..." Riddle promised, his lips revealing a hint of cruelty. "Just so long as we're clear," He stated intently.

"Crystal." Hadrian smiled a close lipped smile, the laugh lines making the expression all too disarming.

He thought briefly about asking Carrow why Sawyer resented him to such an irrational degree, but quickly discarded the idea. He'd much rather figure that out for himself.

As soon as he had his answer though, Sawyer would be dealt with. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stomach the mud-blood's presence.

Riddle smirked at Carrow, "You've got some toothpaste...," gesturing to the left corner of his mouth in explanation, he didn't wait to see what the other would do, turning and leaving as silently as he had entered.

"What?..._Shit_, how'd I manage...?"

The soft, muffled sound of Carrow's cursing, followed by self-depreciating laughter; had Tom smothering an answering grin of amusement as he slipped between his now cool, cotton sheets.

...

"Very good, Mr Dawson, ten points to Gryffindor!" Dumbledore congratulated enthusiastically.

Tom rolled his eyes. He'd gotten the transfiguration correct on his first try, this was child's play.

A sharp rap on the door drew the class's attention. A flushed looking Professor Baird poked her head through the door without waiting for an answer.

"Albus! Is Mr...?" Her tight voice broke off abruptly as her brown eyes landed on her target. "Carrow! Outside, now!" She snapped, her behaviour uncharacteristically ropable if her furious glare was anything to go by.

Tom glanced at the unconcerned Carrow getting to his feet without complaint.

Slate eyes watched as he began packing away his books and parchment, the completed assignment sitting with half a dozen other perfectly transfigured objects as the first. Clearly, he wasn't the only one bored, he realised smugly.

"Is everything alright, Camilla?" Dumbledore asked, eyeing the angry woman with interest, ignoring the way his Gryffindors were sniggering, not even trying to hide their humour.

"I have it in hand, Albus, thank-you." She said sharply.

Tom's eyes narrowed as Carrow shot one of the more popular Gryffindor boys a conspiratorial wink.

The attractive male lion had to bury his head in his arms in order to smother his laughter. Even so, he managed to shoot Carrow a thumbs up.

Unfortunately, Riddle had seen this type of thing too many times before to be surprised.

As soon as Hadrian slipped through the door, Baird called, "Good day, Albus!" and closed the door behind her loudly.

"Well," Dumbledore began, "please, everyone, return to your..." He trailed off as mutterings from the other side of the door started drifting through the wood, climbing in volume.

"_...Don't even try to deny...! I know!" _

It wasn't long before those mutterings became shouts.

"_No other student in this school, capable of performing such a spell, would use it for such frivolous uses, but you, Carrow!"_

The sound of a choked laugh, as if someone was desperately holding it back followed the pregnant pause of silence from outside.

"_Well?! Don't you have anything to say for yourself?!" _

The shrill scream had Dumbledore clearing his throat with an uncomfortable sounding cough. The old man was clearly as interested in the conversation happening outside as everyone else was, but his feeling of duty wouldn't let him go without at least an attempt at refocusing the class.

"Some of you seem to be having trouble with the last counter-clockwise circle. If you do not carry the motion fluidly, your tea pot's spouts will transform incorrectly, resulting in..."

Screaming interrupted him, _"You flooded my largest greenhouse, Carrow! Flooded!"_

Shocked whispers broke out. Wide eyes and impressed students commenting on the gumption such a big prank would take.

Tom's eyes became slits.

"_Professor,"_ Carrow's placating tone immediately silenced all noise.

"_When I opened the door, the force of water carried me half way to the Black Lake!" _Professor Baird's indignant words had the class breaking down in giggles and sniggers.

Carrow coughed. _"Half-way, wow."_ A second cough. _"I was always told that water was good for plants."_ He said cheekily.

"...He didn't." Acrturus groaned from beside him.

Tom was having a hard time wiping the scowl off his face as it was, the howl of amusement from the Gryffindors certainly did nothing but blacken his mood further.

"_Yes, Mr Carrow, but __**flooding **__isn't!"_ Camilla Baird screamed.

Tom closed his eyes, searching for patience as his classmates dissolved into uninhibited laughter.

If he was hearing things correctly, it sounded like Carrow had used an elemental spell to carry out his prank. It was the most logical explanation. It was also the reason why fingers would have immediately been pointed at the pureblood heir. Elemental spells were notoriously difficult to perform. They not only required impressively powerful magic, but the crucial skill and strong will to control it.

And Carrow used the esteemed ability as a punch line in a school prank.

Tom exhaled slowly and slammed his textbook shut with a clap.

...

Arcturus Black shot Grant Sawyer a poisonous glare when the mud-blood bumped into him in the hall.

"Sorry," Sawyer apologised sheepishly, a contrite look on his face.

He sneered, swallowing back the litany of insults on the tip of his tongue. "I understand that the concept of walking _with _another person is foreign to you, Sawyer, but for future reference, personal space is a must." He smiled mockingly.

The mud-blood immediately blushed and ducked his head, undone by his tame insult.

He scoffed internally at such pathetic weakness.

"What punishment do you think Hadrian will get?" Abraxas asked the group as they walked down the corridor.

"House points, detention, the usual thing." The Black heir waved the question away.

His sister shook her head, large black curls flying across her eyes, obscuring her vision, "If you ask me, he deserves to be suspended." She suggested snidely.

"If it were anyone else, Darla, you'd be the first one to shake their hand in congratulations." Stacey rolled her eyes in exasperation; his twin's dislike of Hadrian was well-known.

Darla shot her best friend a venomous look.

"What do you think, Tom?" Malfoy asked the silent prefect.

Riddle shrugged indifferently.

"He won't be expelled?" The almost hopeful sounding question immediately drew everyone's attention.

Arcturus shot the mud-blood a narrowed glance.

As strange as it was to understand, these past two days around the parasite had made it more than obvious that Sawyer held no love for Hadrian. In fact, if it didn't seem so wholly irrational, going off of what he'd seen last night he'd say that the mud-blood was downright hostile when it came to Carrow.

Tom's decision to wait, and even invite him into their circle, suddenly made far more sense when he'd discovered the oddity.

His friend always strove to understand people's motivations. This was no different. Tom would want to know why Sawyer held such anger for Hadrian before he acted. As soon as he'd learnt what he wanted to know, this game would end, and the mud-blood would receive his due.

Seeing the gleam of excitement dancing in muddy brown eyes for what it was, but not for what it meant, Acturus couldn't honestly say that he wasn't intrigued enough to wait and suffer the parasite's presence in order to solve this mystery either.

"Expelled?" Tom asked in a deceptively interested voice.

Thrown by the use of such a neutral tone, Arcturus glanced at his friend in confusion only to realise that this was it, Tom was making his move.

The mud-blood nodded, "Well, I would think that mere detentions or loss of house points would be too lenient in this situation." He explained nervously.

"Are you asking us, or telling us that it would too lenient?" Abraxas sneered.

The answer was obvious.

Sawyer flinched at the cold accusation.

"Don't be so quick to judge, Abraxas," Tom soothed the mud-blood's hurt ego. "Let him speak."

And he had no doubt that part of his friend's decision to seize this chance, and uncover the answer to Sawyer's unexplained hostility towards Carrow at this exact moment, was because his friend couldn't stand the thought of another day in the parasite's presence.

"Well, don't _you_ think it would be a bit lenient?" Sawyer asked Tom directly.

It left a bad taste in his mouth. Arcturus knew that Tom was manipulating Sawyer in order to get what he wanted, but it was galvanising having to watch as the mud-blood spoke slowly, picking his words carefully as if he were the one manipulating them.

To know that the weakling in front of them considered himself so worthy, so special and yet, not do something, to thoroughly disabuse him of that self-delusion, was infuriating.

Somehow, Riddle's manner betrayed nothing but sincere, if detached, interest. "Carrow's pulled stunts like this before, Sawyer. His pranks are, if nothing else, always dramatic. He got nothing but a figurative slap on the wrist when he cast an over-powered confundus charm on the staircases, do you think this so much worse?"

Arcturus desperately wanted to roll his eyes when the mud-blood adopted a deep thinking frown line. Anyone with a brain cell, especially Tom, knew exactly why Hadrian's latest prank was so outlandish.

While most students hated Herbology, no one could dispute the business logic behind Hogwarts growing its own potion ingredients. These plants were notoriously expensive and difficult to maintain, with a large student population to do much of that maintenance work for them in the name of lessons, the school had a large pool of income right at its fingertips.

The reality was Hadrian had no doubt cost Hogwarts a small fortune with his flooding stunt, never mind how brilliant or impressive the magic that caused it was.

Unfortunately for Professor Baird though, the lucrative reality of the greenhouses, while an open secret, officially it couldn't be punished as anything other than frivolous destruction of school property.

"Well, they know it was him this time, right?" Sawyer asked hopefully. "Those other times, everyone knew it was him, but they couldn't prove it. This time they know for sure. Carrow slipped up, gave himself away somehow. That has to make this more serious, doesn't it?"

Arcturus stared at his dorm-mate flatly.

Riddle gave the expectant idiot a close lipped smile, "It won't happen. Even if he does deserve it, he's the heir of the Carrow family. The Professors simply do not have the necessary power or authority to expel someone of that ilk."

Now that was certainly possible. His friend was probing, starting to push possible buttons in order to uncover the source of the mud-blood's anger at Hadrian. The Black heir watched Sawyer closely, looking for any reaction to Riddle's poke at pureblood resentment issues.

"Of course," Sawyer sighed in disappointed resignation.

Arcturus frowned, dissatisfied with the parasite's answer. "Does it bother you that he'll get away with it because of who he was born as?" He asked with forced indifference.

Wide, mud-brown eyes looked at him with shock, nerves and indecision filling the dull orbs a moment later. "I don't...resent...the power that purebloods enjoy because of their status," Sawyer said carefully, as if he knew that he was walking on thin ice despite their schooled faces.

Tom raised a single brow and smirked. "_Just _Carrow?"

Sawyer swallowed loudly, raising a hand to press against his temple in an obvious show of apprehension. His stare darted continuously around the group, searching for any sign of negative feelings with uncertain eyes. Finally, when the silence became awkward, no-one stepping in to save him as he was silently pleading them to do, he nodded jerkily; too coward to verbalise such agreement.

Taking their cue from Riddle, nothing more than interested hums and intrigued nods of thought escaped them. Though Arcturus caught the way his sister had to raise her eyes to the ceiling, incapable to hiding her disgust and anger.

Tom deliberately started walking again, the casual activity putting the subject of his interrogation at ease completely.

Arcturus shook his head in admiration

Riddle was a master at this. He'd got Sawyer to admit to his resentment of Hadrian, and by reacting with nothing but clinical, detached interest, made it seem as if such an opinion of Carrow was hardly something the mud-blood had to keep secret.

Sawyer would feel safe enough to speak his mind on the topic now, and if he was reading this right, the level of resentment that he was harbouring for Hadrian, for whatever reason, was too large to stay silent now that he believed voicing such opinions wouldn't result in their rejection.

He wouldn't last the day.

They'd know everything in mere hours, he was sure of that.

...

Stacey forced herself not to draw away from mud-blood as he slid into the empty seat beside her through force of will alone.

She understood the unspoken message clearly, get him talking. Riddle sat in the desk in front of her with Arcturus, close enough to listen and intervene if he felt it necessary, but not close enough to have to suffer speaking to the rodent himself.

Shaking her shoulders and hair delicately, she assumed an open, curious persona with just a touch of coldness to ensure he didn't suspect anything. Not that she believed for one second that the mud-blood had enough intelligence for such practical caution.

"Hadrian hasn't shown up." She stated in a conspiratorial mutter.

People such as Sawyer always wished to be part of the 'in crowd', and there was no better way of giving such an impression as the sharing of a secret or confidence.

Mud brown eyes swung towards her, wide with the shock that she would initiation conversation.

"...No." He agreed softly before turning away from her.

She clenched her hand into a fist underneath the table, suppressing her growl of frustration. "Well?" She pressed. Another thing people always loved was being sought out for conversation.

"Well what?" The mudblood parried.

How inspiring.

"Well," She lowered her voice to give the impression of secrecy, but couldn't bring herself to lean forward to further that notion in his mind. "Maybe you were right? Detention and house points wouldn't take this long to sort out."

Guarded brown eyes searched her sky blue ones clumsily. "You think I'm right?" He scoffed, shaking his head, "You hate me, Moon. You always have. Don't even bother with the about face, I'm not buying it." He stated strongly.

Aw, looks like her acidic tongue had done more damage over the years than she'd thought, she was so proud.

"Nonsense, you're one of us now, aren't you?" She raised an expectant brow. "Did you think I would ignore that?"

Understanding lit those eyes and he grinned. "Yes. I'm one of you, now." He repeated to himself.

She waited in silence knowing that he'd do the rest of the work for her.

"I wouldn't be surprised to know that he was in the Headmaster's office." The mud-blood stated arrogantly. "Carrow's always somehow been able to wriggle out of any bind he gets himself into. He's...charming, I know." The acknowledgment seemed to hurt him to admit, and the small vengeance was sweet. "But I'd like to see him explain this one." He laughed.

Realising that the idiot hadn't anything more to say, despite his face telling her he desperately wished to keep their 'bonding time' going, Stacey hummed in seeming agreement. "But if he gives up the names of the Gryffindors he was working with..."

"Gryffindors?" Sawyer asked sharply.

She smiled and pointed to the trio of wizards that made up some of the Lion's house most popular students in explanation.

Sawyer's realisation was slow coming, but come it did.

He took a deep breath, shooting her a penetrating look.

Nothing except mildly interested features greeted him, and her, 'lack of agenda', seemed to give him the confidence he needed to speak up.

"Why don't you, _any_ of you, ever speak to Carrow about his association with the other houses?" He asked in what seemed to be frustrated confusion.

He was kidding, right?

"What do you mean?" Her voice betrayed none of the scorn present in her thoughts.

He leaned forward, and she had to turn her head slightly and dig the sharp nails of her hands deeply into her legs to stop herself from reacting the half a dozen ways she wanted to.

Three of those ideas involved her leaping away in a different direction each time, and the other three had her kneeing him in the groin, banging his face into the table, and pushing him to the floor so that he knew to never _ever_ come that close to her again.

"None of the rest of you act the way he does with the other Houses. Them?" He pointed to the Gryffindor trio, "They hate most Slytherins. Yet, I've seen Carrow and them tripping through the halls together, drunk as Lord's. They hate the Slytherin Quiddich team, but don't begrudge Carrow when he catches the snitch and steals the Cup from them. The only other Slytherin they can even remotely stand is Tom."

Stacey saw the way the material covering Riddle's shoulder blades tightened when the mud-blood, yet again, referred to him in so casual an address.

"But that's not all; he'll sit with the Ravenclaws for hours sometimes, lost in debate. He invites them back to our common room, and yet no one says anything. He even likes the Hufflepuffs! The vast majority of them won't even sit with any other Slytherin except him in class...I've seen the way other Slytherins are laughed at by their housemates if they have friendships in Hufflepuff, why not Carrow?" He muttered harshly.

He was serious, she realised with a certain amount of disbelief.

How was it possible that he not know the answer to all those questions? He'd lived in Slytherin for almost seven years, yet he didn't understand the basics of how, why and apparently_ what_ their house hierarchy was.

It was as obvious as he was ugly!

Every single person had a spot in the pecking order. If you were above someone, you had the right to chastise, ridicule and order them about if that is what you wanted. If that person didn't like it, they had one of two choices. Accept it and shut up, or become stronger than the other person and rise above them in the hierarchy.

You were as high as the calibre of people you were able to dominate, and as low as those you couldn't, if the need arose, force to do as you ordered.

Most had a general idea of where they fit on the ladder. And Hadrian Carrow had shared the top position with Tom Riddle as soon as he'd walked through the Slytherin entrance when he was just eleven years old.

Why? Because of the very simple fact that no one in that room, then or since, has ever come close to being able to force either for them to do anything they didn't wish to do.

So no, they didn't comment on his behaviour with the other houses.

Stacey smiled thinly at Sawyer, "He wouldn't listen."

...

Bevin Greengrass nodded discretely in acknowledgement of Riddle's silent instruction to engage Sawyer in conversation.

This had to be some sort of retribution for him subjecting them all to the mud-blood's presence in the first place.

As soon as the bell had rung, signalling the end of the lesson, Moon had just about leapt from her seat, wisely remembering to give Sawyer a curt goodbye, before she practically ran from the room in her haste to leave.

It was a good thing she had remembered her manners with Riddle's latest project if the look he'd sent after her retreating figure had been any indication.

Wanting to get it over and done with, he walked up to Sawyer and fell into step beside him.

"Hey, you and Moon looked to be having a pretty involved conversation earlier, everything alright?" He'd decided that the best approach he could take was to be the ally helping smooth the mud-blood's way into the group.

"So now you're interested?" Sawyer said smugly. "Yesterday I may as well not have existed to you."

If only...

"Hey!" He pulled on the moron's elbow, not slowing them, but adding credence to his 'outrage'. "You're not the only one on trial here. By being the factor that essentially introduced you to Riddle, my reputation and place within the group is on the line too. If you fail, I'm out."

Muddy brown eyes bugged out in shock, the mud-blood's mouth falling open. "Wow." He breathed.

Greengrass nodded. "Exactly. So, do you mind sharing? I might be able to smooth any ruffled feathers if I need to."

Sawyer shook his head, shock dissipating to be replaced with proud satisfaction. "No, it wasn't like that. We were just talking about Hadrian."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." He nodded decisively.

He made a show of exhaling in relief. "Good. She didn't look upset or anything, but I thought that it was better to check with you to be sure."

"Thank-you, Bevin." Sawyer smiled widely.

He swallowed his irritation at the first name reference with difficulty; he had a job to do.

"Hey, no need. If she wasn't red from anger she was blushing for an entirely different reason. Good on you!" He laughed.

The mud-blood fell for it hook, line and sinker. "Oh, no. It wasn't, she wasn't, I-I mean I'm not..."He stammered in a ridiculous amount of embarrassment for such a tame innuendo.

Bevin made an 'ah' sound. "You mean you don't like girls? I know you're muggleborn but you should know by now that the wizarding world has no stigma against same sex couples."

"I know!" The mud-blood frowned in offence at his assumed ignorance. "I'm just not a flirt, that's all."

Please, as if he'd had the chance to be one.

"There's nothing wrong with having some fun." He said casually.

Sawyer glowered darkly at the stone floor as they walked on, not imagining for a second that Riddle, many paces ahead could hear them clearly.

"I've come to realise that people our age aren't interested in anything but a pretty face as far as having fun is concerned. And I'd rather be judged and valued on what I'm capable of, not how handsome I am." He spat bitterly.

Bevin shot the runt a curious glance, for the first time interested in this conversation, however little that might be. "Talking about Hadrian?" He asked. Before Sawyer could even ask the predictably stupid question he added, "Last night, you brought up..."

"...The fact that Carrow spends half of his nights in someone else's bed?" He sneered with an ugly expression.

Bevin shot a fast glance around the hall, breathing a silent sigh of relief when he saw that no one could have overheard the intrusive, distasteful remark.

What the hell was the moron thinking spouting off like that?! He shuddered to think what Hadrian might do had he found out, and the mood struck him. You never knew with Carrow.

"...Yeah, that." Bevin breathed out shakily. "Though, he's not the only one with such an active...social life, you know." He reminded lightly.

Sawyer didn't say anything for a long moment before he finally nodded; looking as if the thought pained him.

Huh, Hadrian had been right. The mud-blood had the hots for Riddle. Bet that'd gone over well with the Slytherin.

Sawyer seemed to struggle for the words to explain. "It's frustrating to know that because Carrow is _relatively _attractivehe's given free passes and attention that others have to work for and actually deserve!" He exclaimed in aggravation. 

Well, of course. That was simply the way of the world. Attractive people had an easier time of it; it was a fact that wasn't going to change anytime soon. Anyway, Tom was equally as handsome as Carrow, in completely different ways of course, and the moron wasn't moaning about the unfairness of that, was he?

The mud-blood bit his lip, glancing up and around in an absurd show of checking for any would-be eavesdroppers before speaking plainly. "All I'm saying is that there's a difference between book smarts and street smarts, just like there's a difference between obvious good-looks and features that blend in."

'Features that blend in'? Bevin let his eyes take in the weak, unattractive features of the boy beside him with mocking amusement. Sawyer wished that was all he was.

The mud-blood waved his arms widely, "One combination will make you stand out in the crowd, make you a popular face in your youth, but it's the second type that really excel in the world. The sort that ends up _using _the first for their own gain." He stressed passionately.

What?!

"Just because I'm more subtle than Carrow's dramatic antics, I'm seen as something less! It's not fair!" Sawyer stated strongly, his mud-brown eyes staring at Bevin as if he'd just offered up a priceless piece of wisdom.

What a load of Hippogriff dung!

"...Some people have all the luck," How he managed to hide the strain in his grin, he had no idea.

...

"...So you see, when Carrow was seen to give me some sort of protection within Slytherin, he'd automatically made me weak in the eyes of everyone. This way, no matter how low on the social hierarchy he fell, there was at least one person always below him." Grant explained eagerly to his silent audience.

"No kidding..." Nott breathed with wide eyes.

They were getting it. They understood!

This was really happening, after all these years the truth was_ finally_ coming out.

He shuffled forward on the grass, nodding frantically, his mouth split in a wide grin of relief at finally being able to tell them what had happened.

What Carrow had done to him.

"It was ingenious really." He admitted begrudgingly, "Once Carrow had labelled me under his 'protection' it was just always assumed that I agreed with everything he did, with the way he acted! When, in reality, _nothing_ could have been further from the truth."

He implored them to understand this, his eyes beseeching.

"I don't blame _any_ of you for the way you've treated me over the years. I would have done the same to such a seemingly weak person, but that's not me! I've been stuck under Carrow's shadow, tarnished by his reputation." He laughed breathily. "I've been going crazy!"

"I can see that." Abraxas drawled slowly, his voice disbelieving; and Grant felt like shouting his triumphant escape from Hadrian Carrow to the skies.

It felt like fourty tonnes had been lifted off his shoulders.

He should have spoken up years ago. Explained the situation sooner. He'd wasted so much time being careful, worried they wouldn't believe him. That Carrow would find some way to slither out of this hole just like he charmed his way out of everything else.

"You think Carrow's protection was totally unneeded, Sawyer?" Riddle asked in an undecipherable tone of seeming calm.

Grant looked at the one person he had always wished knew the truth the most over the years.

Riddle was leaning back against the tree, eyes closed, face tilted to the sky. The rest of the Slytherin elite surrounded him in a loose semi-circle on the grass.

Classes had ended an hour ago, but instead of going back to the common room, Riddle had led them outside to sit beneath the lone tree next to the Black Lake.

Today had been...wonderful.

Riddle's causal inquiry about whether he resented purebloods and their place in society seemed to have a cascade effect on all his other housemates.

He was actually having productive conversations with them, conversation that they initiated!

But that wasn't the even the best part of his day. For the first time ever, he was able to actually talk to them about Hadrian Carrow.

He had wondered for years why they never put a stop to Carrow's atrocious behaviour with the other houses. Somewhat emboldened by their neutral reactions earlier, he'd gathered his courage, and simply asked.

He wouldn't listen. Carrow wouldn't listen to them if they did pull him up for the behaviour. It was so simple! He can't believe he'd never even thought of it before. They couldn't simply curse him, he was a pureblood heir, however undeserving, and he wouldn't listen!

Of course!

The positive responses he'd received throughout the day, whenever he brought up Carrow, had Grant becoming more and more convinced that his caution was unneeded. That they would understand.

So, when the conversation had turned naturally to a topic that led into him telling them everything; he'd taken it and run.

"Yes." Grant stated without a hint of doubt. Utterly certain, that without Carrow, he would have been as close to Riddle as Arcturus was, perhaps closer even.

"Really?" The sceptical drawl to his left had him looking into Darla's guarded eyes. "You are muggleborn, Sawyer. You don't think that that would have caused problems?"

Grant deliberately turned back to face Riddle, despite the closed eyes. "I would have been able to prove my worth, my power to you, if Carrow hadn't acted as he did. You wouldn't have relegated me to the bottom of the hierarchy without proof, would you? I was never given the evaluation that everyone else is. If I had, this_ whole_ thing could have been avoided. I would have been accepted by all of you years ago." He said sadly.

So much lost time. And it was all Carrow's fault.

"Indeed." At the sound of the crisp word, he looked up, only to lock eyes with untarnished slate. "You weren't given the _traditional _evaluation, Sawyer. It was remiss of me." Riddle stood up in a gracefully fluid move.

"I-I don't..." Grant stumbled to his feet, tripping over his words.

"_Blame me_, yes I know." Riddle collected his bag from the ground, his eyes never making contact with his again. If he were the paranoid sort he might have said that the avoidance was deliberate. "You blame Carrow."

"Yes." Grant hurried to assure.

"Well, in that case, I believe I have all that I need. Don't you all agree?" Riddle asked the question widely.

"Oh, yes. It was...most illuminating." Arcturus Black promised.

Riddle turned on his heel and began making his way back towards the castle, speaking to them as he walked. "Everyone will meet here thirty minutes after curfew tonight. Don't be late." He ordered in an icy voice.

Grant frowned in confusion, the thought of breaking the school rules so deliberately instantly quickening his heartbeat, his anxiety prompting him to speak up. "Why?" He called out.

Riddle stopped, and slowly turned around so that for the first time since he'd finished explaining everything he was looking into those slate orbs.

A darkly seductive smirk curled up the corners of his mouth, "Your evaluation, of course."

...

_Finally! Having spent many a strangely timed moment thinking on the plot point that was giving me so much trouble, I've found a solution that I'm happy with! Yeah! _

_Grant Sawyer has made such a muddle of everything that concerns Carrow and how people regard him. By isolating major points of misunderstanding in Hadrian's character ie) his lack of pureblood decorum, and having Grant actually explain to different personalities the incredible way he makes aspects of reality fit into such a neat, perfect delusion, it gave me the chance to really flesh out Hadrian and Tom. At least I think so ;D_

_Things are definitely starting to pick up! What did you think? Did you like?_


	8. Retribution

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

...

Tom held out his hand. "Your wand?" He kept his tone light.

Sawyer's eyes grew impossibly wide and he clutched the wood to his chest defensively. "What?" He squeaked.

"Well, it wouldn't really be a test if you could simply summon the stone to you as you entered the forest, would it?" Tom pointed out mildly.

The mudblood shook his head quickly, "I won't, I promise!"

Tom forced the sneer down with effort. Sawyer didn't have a trustworthy, loyal bone in his body. "Don't you trust me?" He smiled.

Right on cue, soft mutterings of disapproval hummed from the purebloods behind him; the peer pressure only increasing the indecision in mud-brown eyes.

With a shaky hand, Sawyer held out his wand, clearly not wanting to part with his only defence in the forest.

Tom nodded in approval, watching with amusement as some of the unease left those nervous eyes.

"I'm going to leave it here," Tom threw the wand at the base of the tree they were all standing in front of, next to the Black Lake. "As soon as you collect the stone, your wand will be here and waiting for you."

Sawyer sagged in relief, certain now that they weren't setting him up to fail. He'd have his wand as soon as he completed his task. He wouldn't even have to wait until he reached the common room.

"See?" Abraxas drawled, looked pointedly at the mudblood. "Isn't that fair?" He stressed the words warningly, silently telling Sawyer that his obvious suspicion and worry was uncouth, and Riddle was being magnanimous to overlook such rudeness.

Sawyer's back straightened in such an obvious show of 'taking the message on board' that Tom was able to sense the disdain wafting off those at his back.

"Yes," The mudblood nodded, swallowing past his disquiet in an attempt at covering his fear. It didn't work.

"Off you go then." Nott made a shooing gesture with his hand, his black eyes glinting with cruelty.

Sawyer turned decisively towards the trees and started off. Half way there, he paused and turned back. Arcturus groaned in impatience behind him.

Mud-brown eyes looked straight into slate, over pouring with admiration, lust and trust.

"It is safe...isn't it, Tom?"

"Your choices are your own, Sawyer. No one is forcing you to do anything you don't want to do."

The mudblood closed his eyes, arguing with himself. "It's my choice." His tone was questioning as he spoke to himself. "It's _my_ choice," He said strongly.

Sawyer glanced up at the group, his eyes shining brightly, arrogance and triumph superseding his fear, for the moment at least. It would be a very different story once he was beneath those perilous trees on his own, Tom was fully aware of that.

"Save me a seat in the common room," Sawyer ordered Darla Black superiorly.

She hissed quietly at his back.

The mudblood walked confidently into the trees.

As soon as he was gone, the group relaxed, shooting glares and exited glances at the forest as they slowly made their way back towards the castle.

Tom gave a subtle wave of his wand towards the trees.

A lone, loud howl suddenly pierced the silence of the night.

He smirked, glancing up at the sky; his lips curling at the corners as he took in the bright, glowing, sliver orb against the carpet of black.

The werewolf always answers the call of its own kind.

...

"One foot in front of the other; left, right, left, right," Grant spoke to him-self, trying to drown out the rising worry of his thoughts as he shuffled deeper and deeper into the dangerous trees.

It was so quiet.

He'd never been in a forest that was so quiet.

It wasn't natural.

He looked back anxiously. There was no sign of the tree line. If he'd really only travelled two hundred meters, surely he should still be able to see the tree-line. Right?

He turned back around slowly, his footsteps small and reluctant as he forced himself to continue forward.

Where was this fork in the road that Moon had spoken of? His eyes combed the rough dirt path over and over, the darkness making it difficult to see.

He stopped.

Turning so that he was sideways on the path, he glanced back. Maybe he'd missed it?

It seemed like he'd been walking for longer than two hundred meters, and he couldn't see the tree-line, but...he sighed and forced himself to move forward again. He had been walking really slowly; his steps were practically heel-to-toe.

A large grin spilt his face and he hurried forward. The fork!

He breathed out a breath of relief. The voice in the back of his mind that had been growing louder, saying he'd been played, that they were pranking him, quietened with proof of the truth of Moon's instructions.

His steps quickened. He didn't want to spend more than a second longer than he had to beneath these trees.

The glade came into view almost immediately, silencing any lingering worries as to the distance he was from the entrance to the forest.

He'd been right, it had just seemed that way because he was moving so slowly before.

Eyeing the water with reluctance, he began peeling off his outer robe and toeing his shoes off.

The first touch of the small pool of water made him gasp loudly, "Holy hell!" It was so cold!

Squeezing his eyes shut, he jumped, the water splashing loudly as it sloshed over the moss-covered rocks that formed the natural boundary around the glade. He swam awkwardly towards the small waterfall, smiling widely as the falling water filled the eerie silence that had seemed so oppressive before.

Standing up, he reached an arm through the water grasping around the naturally formed nooks and crannies for any hint of the prized stone, his face twisting in effort as he reached higher.

A sharp crack made him freeze. Poking his head out of the waterfall; he glanced sharply around the small glade.

What was that? He drew back from the falling water, trying to hear clearly.

Standing silently under the icy water, his body grew numb with the cold, but he didn't move. His over active imagination was providing him with plenty of ways a werewolf could come leaping over the small circle of tress enveloping the area, jaw wide and ready to swallow him whole.

His eyes swung to the left when the leaves of a bush shook and Grant almost fell back into the pool when something jumped out onto the grass, scaring half the years off his life.

A small, tan rabbit with a white fluffy tail looked at him, startled.

Grant brought a hand to his chest, the fast beating of his heart easy to feel against his thin ribcage.

It was just a rabbit.

He laughed shakily, shaking his head, taking a few deep, calming breaths before resuming his search.

As soon as he had the elusive stone he swam quickly back towards his discarded clothes, wanting nothing more than to leave the forest as soon as possible. He shrugged on his robe, loving the feel of the dry fabric against his icy skin.

The small red stone caught his attention and, in that moment, his whole world coalesced into a single point.

"I did it," He whispered reverently.

Bending to pick up the stone, he held it up, inspecting the water smoothed edges as a warm, victorious arrogance grew in his heart.

He grinned.

"I did it!" He yelled gleefully, tossing the stone up into the air, determined to catch it with the same flare and elegance that Hadrian Carrow had caught that ruby apple.

A rumbling growl from behind him stopped his heart, the stone falling right past his limp, outstretched hand to land on the forest floor.

Grant spun around, his heart loud in his ears.

Huge glowing eyes, bright with cruel hunger seemed to smile at him in satisfaction.

He staggered back, a distressed cry falling from his mouth.

The beast followed his movements, stepping out of the bush with slow steps. Powerful, healthy muscles rippled beneath coarse grey fur as the wolf began to stalk forward.

Grant spun around, his legs tripping over each other in his haste to escape, and ran.

Oh God, he ran.

His leg muscles screamed in protest, his chest hurt from the cold, dry gulps of air he gasped in, his exhales catching on his sobs, tears obscuring his vision as he tried desperately to remember the direction of the timberline.

Without warning, a deafening howl of victory pierced the forest making Grant scream in terror even as he sobbed.

Oh God.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.

This wasn't happening!

Behind him, the wolf gave chase. Leaping over glens, breaking sturdy tree branches as if they were twigs, skirting hidden hollows with undeniable skill.

Grant pushed his legs harder; somehow managing to find speed that he never knew existed as he flew through the forest, his mind given over entirely to terror. All he knew was to run.

Run.

Run.

He could hear the loud breaths of the wolf at his back, feel the warmth of its mouth hovering as if it were really there.

He couldn't breathe!

With a cry, his bare foot caught on a protruding root, his body falling in on itself.

His wrist, caught beneath his body as he fell, snapped.

A rolling growl rumbled from directly behind him and his body started shaking. Beyond terror, beyond reason, beyond thought, all he knew was fear.

Grant cried and cried, pulling with numb fingers at the root keeping him captive.

Without warning, his injured, frozen body was driven hard into the ground as the beast leapt on him, pinning him easily beneath its weight.

Large glistening teeth sank deep into the muscle of his shoulder, driving down into the bone.

Grant screamed, loud and long.

...

It wasn't very late. Almost everyone was still in the common room.

"Where does he get off ordering me about?" Darla suddenly snarled, her eyes not moving from where they were glaring into the hearth's flames. "I hope he trips and breaks his neck," She said seriously.

Tom's eyes gleamed with pleasure as angry murmurs and scornful words left those surrounding him.

They'd surprised him tonight. At the very least he'd expected some trepidation to emerge once they realised exactly what he intended for Sawyer. For their consciences to pull at them when the potential consequences of this revenge became all too clear. But they hadn't blinked.

Werewolves were a very real threat, and although there was only a small chance that Sawyer would encounter one on his expedition, especially one he couldn't outrun as the wards were only three hundred meters away, it was still possible.

At least, Tom smirked up at the ceiling, if left to chance.

But every single one of his Slytherins were willing to live with the possibility of that outcome occurring. The hate and disdain that the mudblood had managed to inspire in them was such that it had ensured their hearty co-operation.

From the corner of his eye, Tom saw the exact moment that the portrait hole was pushed hastily open and their Head of House rushed in.

"Riddle?" Slughorn called urgently, squeezing through the gap without waiting for the entrance to widen fully.

Tom smothered his smirk of satisfaction and rose confidently to his feet. He'd been expecting a summons any minute now, the professors certainly didn't disappoint, did they?

"Yes, Professor?"

Slughorn was pale in the face, dabbing his sweaty forehead with the silk handkerchief he kept in the pockets of his robe. "Tom, come. The Headmaster wants to see you." He waved his hand impatiently.

"What's this about?" Arcturus stood at his side, the feigned confusion on his face believable to almost everyone in the common room.

Horace Slughorn frowned at the pair in a manner he never would have considered had he not been bursting with nervous tension. "Never you mind, Mr Black," He snapped.

The common room stilled, all eyes suddenly becoming watchful as they realised whatever had their Head of House in such a state was not of the norm.

"Come along, Riddle." Slughorn frowned, glancing around at his silent snakes in annoyance; he ought to have known better than to act so emotionally around the most cunning students in Hogwarts, he'd only raised their curiousity.

Tom glided out of the common room without a word.

As the portrait hole shut, Slughorn hurried down the halls travelling quickly towards the Headmaster's office.

They climbed the last staircase before they reached the seventh floor in silence.

"Carrow!"

Riddle's head shot up at the surprised call of the Professor.

Sure enough, there was Carrow; a book in his lap as he lounged in a clearly conjured armchair, looking to the entire world the epitome of comfort. Picture frames were floating through the air around him, charmed buckets of hot water and polishing cans along with rags in which to apply it, cleaning the paintings until they shone.

Viridian orbs took in the pair, those eyes missing nothing.

"Well..." He let the book fall to his lap."This certainly looks interesting," Carrow commented; showing no concern for having been caught using magic in his detention.

Tom's lips tightened, and for the first time since Sawyer had walked into the forest, his mood soured. Ever since they had been boys, the way that Carrow would use powerful, advanced magic for such ridiculous purposes had always annoyed him.

"Carrow," Slughorn closed his eyes in realisation. "Go back to the common room, your detention is finished. I shall inform Professor Baird myself."

"Huh," Emerald eyes darkened, sliding towards Riddle in thought. "I see...Well, don't let me hold you up," He waved an arm in invitation for them to leave.

As soon as they reached the top of the stair and were facing the stone statue guarding the entrance, the potions master cursed softly, and Tom couldn't help rolling his eyes at the man's forgetfulness.

"The password is Oslo."

Tom glanced down into sharp emerald eyes.

He nodded his appreciation, unsurprised that Carrow knew the password to the Headmaster's office.

"Oslo," He said clearly.

"Thank-you, Hadrian. Now off you go, and no detours. Straight back to the common room, is that understood?" The portly professor muttered distractedly.

"Understood, sir." Carrow nodded.

"Good, good." Slughorn stepped onto the stairs, rising quickly out of sight. Tom was about to join him when a soft voice stopped him short.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Riddle."

Tom smirked, looking up at the door to the Headmaster's office. "I didn't know you cared, Carrow."

He stepped onto the stairs confidently, rising swiftly. He shook his head, bemused by the excitement such a small encounter with Hadrian had left him with.

The door was open and he stepped through without hesitation.

"Good Evening, Headmaster."

...

"...I never would have gone in if they hadn't told me I had to!"

Albus nodded along with the crying boy lying in the hospital bed, his life ruined and in tatters.

"I-I just w-w-wanted to be one o-of them!" He wailed into his hands.

"Mr Sawyer," He kept his tone calm and comforting, his heart aching for the miserable life now promised to the young man in front of him. "This is not the end of the world. I know it must feel like that, but you must have faith."

"How?!" Sawyer demanded, angry. "Werewolves are the only thing more hated than muggleborns in the Wizarding world, and now I'm both!" He yelled.

Dumbledore caught the boy's hand and squeezed it tightly. "I will try and convince the Headmaster to allow you to stay here at Hogwarts and finish your education. I will also try and convince him that informing the Ministry of your new status isn't needed, which will allow you to escape the werewolf registration, at least until you graduate."

Large brown eyes were staring up at him with growing hope, "Y-you think you can?" Sawyer whispered.

Albus let the twinkle in his eyes brighten. "I'm fairly certain," He all but promised.

And he was. It would take convincing, there was no doubt of that, but he knew that he could talk Dippet into doing as he wanted.

"But the students-!"

He held up a hand, "Have no need to know." He said firmly.

A small smile began to pull up the corner of Sawyer's mouth before it faded. "Someone will find out, they always do, and then my life will be ruined. Everyone hates werewolves; they think that they're monsters and shouldn't be allowed near people."

"I don't think that, and I'm a part of everyone. And I know more people that have no issue with werewolves," He assured the scared boy. "Do you think that?" Albus asked pointedly.

Sawyer's face fell. "…I used to," He said with a small voice.

Dumbledore nodded wisely. "Sometimes it takes experiencing the unfairness to appreciate its faults."

Sawyer perked up, nodding in agreement. "Do you really know others, sir? People that haven't any problem with werewolves?" He asked in excitement.

"I do," He smiled. "There's more tolerance out there than you think, Grant. Yes, there are those that are frightened by your transformation, but it's based on ignorance, nothing more. You should pity their lack of understanding. Your life is far from over, my boy."

Sawyer was grinning widely, his head nodding slowly as he mulled over his Transfiguration Professor's words. "Pity them..." He murmured with smile.

Dumbledore's face grew serious, "I take it the group of Slytherins I've seen you with these past two days are the people you are referring to?"

Grant nodded easily, seeing no problem giving up their names. "Yes."

"And Mr Riddle? He was also a part of this group?" Albus pressed; his thoughts worried.

For the first time, Sawyer hesitated, and then nodded slowly, "Yes."

"Thank-you, Grant." Dumbledore patted the boy's hand, rising from the hospital bed. "I will go to the Headmaster directly. I believe the nurse still has a number of tests she wishes to run on you, but then feel free to return to your common room."

"Thank-you, Professor Dumbledore!" Sawyer called out, his eyes brighter, certain now that rumours of werewolf hysteria had been greatly exaggerated.

Yes, he was different, but really, if it was only specific groups of people - who didn't even understand in the first place - that had a problem with him, he'd been worrying for no reason.

"No need, my boy."

Albus closed the door to the hospital wing with a heavy sigh.

He hoped that he'd been able to bolster the young man's spirits somewhat. His life would be hard, and if he grew to hate every person that turned their nose up at him or turned him out because of fear, he'd become bitter very soon.

Light blue eyes flashed darkly behind half-moon spectacles.

He'd known something like this would happen. Since that day he went to the orphanage and saw the cruelty and sadistic leanings of that small child, he'd known it was only a matter of time.

Tom Riddle had essentially cost Grant Sawyer his life tonight. Nothing in this world could convince him that it had happened by accident.

Nothing.

...

"Tom," Dippet sighed tiredly, gesturing towards the chair in front of his desk, his face distressed. "Do you know why I have called you here?" He asked.

Tom sent the Headmaster an unconcerned look, shaking his head, "No, sir."

Dippet sat back with a frown. "Mr Grant Sawyer was infected by a werewolf bite tonight, Mr Riddle. He says that you and your friends forced him to go into the forest, knowing that it was a full moon, to retrieve something as part of an initiation into your group."

Tom let a horrified look spread across his face and glanced up at his Head of House for confirmation, as if he couldn't quite believe the news.

"You mean he actually went in?!" He exclaimed with just the right amount of horror, shock and perplexity.

The Headmaster exchanged a look with Slughorn, clearly not knowing what to make of the situation. "So you did tell him to go into the forest, even knowing it was a full moon?" He tried to clarify.

"We didn't_ tell_ him to do anything, sir. Professor," He turned to his Potions teacher deliberately, "Do you remember breakfast a few days ago? Sawyer dropped the eggs, covering everyone in it?"

"Yes," Slughorn nodded uncomfortably.

"Sawyer's been getting on everyone's nerves lately, so we decided to play a harmless prank on him to let him know he needed to cut it out. This was never supposed to happen," He said firmly.

"But you told him to go into the forest?" Dippet frowned.

"To collect a stone," Tom said. "He could have picked up any old stone and we wouldn't have known the difference. We were planning on having him get caught out after curfew, that's all. On the off-chance he actually went in, we told him the glade to find the stone was three hundred meters from the timberline, which there is. We never expected him to be crazy enough to go in, and we never forced or threatened him into acting as he did either."

He could see the belief spreading quickly across their faces. They'd probably already come to a similar conclusion.

"Horace, you know Mr Sawyer, do you believe him capable of being so...careless?" The Headmaster picked the word carefully, clearly wishing to use a more negative description.

Slughorn nodded, "Unfortunately, yes. I believe Mr Sawyer could act so...carelessly."

Tom easily smothered his smile and added that little bit extra that would appease their consciences. "We even left him his wand. I told him exactly where I was leaving it, beside the tree, he saw me put it there. None of us ever had any intention of leaving him defenceless. It was just a prank." He shrugged helplessly.

"And look what your simple prank has wrought, Mr Riddle. You have destroyed someone's life tonight." The severe voice at his back made him tense.

"And I can't express my shock or shame enough, Professor Dumbledore. But that doesn't change the fact that I never wanted this to happen," He said stiffly.

"Albus, this is beyond tragic, no one is disputing that. Nevertheless, this awful accident and circumstance of fate is no one's fault," Dippet said with a frown.

"So it seems," Dumbledore walked into the room, coming to a stop at the side of the Headmaster's desk. Tom avoided the heavy judgmental eyes with the ease of practice. "I would like to recommend that Mr Sawyer be allowed to continue here at Hogwarts."

Tom's head snapped round.

"You can't be serious, Albus!" Dippet exclaimed. "A werewolf, studying at Hogwarts?! The parents would never accept it!" He shook his head resolutely.

Slate eyes narrowed on Dumbledore. He might hate him, but there was no denying that the wizard was annoyingly clever and cunning when he wanted to be. He had a plan.

"There is no reason for them to know," Dumbledore stated simply.

Anger started burning within him. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for Sawyer to suffer with the curse his whole life; he wanted him thrown from the school. He wanted him to know what the real world was, in so stark and inescapable a manner, that no matter how hard he tried to delude himself into something different, reality simply wouldn't allow it.

"You mean...hide it? Impossible! As soon as the Ministry knows, the parents will know anyway."

Tom clenched his jaw as the Deputy Headmaster put forward that there was no need to inform the Ministry yet either.

"Except the students that were a part of Mr Riddle's group tonight, who will no doubt be able to connect the dots, us, and Mr Sawyer of course, no one knows of his condition. Precautions could be put in place on the nights of the full moon, other than that the boy is a normal, human student. There would be no risk."

"No risk?!" Dippet scoffed. "I feel sorry for the boy, don't get me wrong, but we have to think of the rest of the students, Albus, and not let our hearts run away with themselves. He might only transform a few nights a month, but his temper will be shorter, his strength and other senses will be enhanced. That combination is potentially dangerous to the safety of the students!"

"I believe Mr Sawyer has the temperament and will power to control both if the need arises, Armando." Dumbledore fixed his superior with a look of reproach.

Tom had to stop his eyes from rolling; what a blatant lie. Sawyer didn't have any willpower whatsoever; he wouldn't be surprised if the idiot didn't even know that his strength would increase due to the curse.

Seeing the way Slughorn and the Headmaster were folding under Dumbledore's pressure, he spoke up quickly. "Excuse me, sir." Hard blue eyes, absent of any twinkle focused on him. "I understand that you only wish to do right by Sawyer. Yet, I don't think it would be legal or even ethical to monitor what students can and cannot say to their parents." His expression was earnest and contrite.

Dippet took the offered argument and ran. "Quite right, Tom. Albus, you might ask them to keep their silence but we have no right to force them."

"Perhaps not a legal one," Dumbledore nodded, Tom watching him cautiously. "But I don't see _any _person that was_ truly_ sorry for being indirectly responsible in causing such a tragedy from refusing to promise their silence. After-all, it's such a small thing," He smiled genially, as if that settled the issue.

Tom gnashed his teeth together furiously. Dumbledore had beaten him. If he spoke out now it would be like admitting to not being 'truly sorry'.

Damn!

He smiled innocently at the expectant faces that turned towards him, expertly covering any irritation or anger. "Of course," He nodded with agreement.

...

Grant walked into the common room a little hesitantly, unsure of how he should act.

When no one paid him any extra attention, he smiled. He was no different from them. They couldn't even tell what he was!

Confidence boosted, he strutted into the room, careful not to pull on the bandage on his neck.

"Hadrian," He sneered openly at the pureblood lying sideways across an armchair, legs casually bent over one of the sides.

The memory of telling his housemates about Carrow, about how the heir had manipulated them all from the get go, the delicious moment when they'd all fallen silent with the level of their shock and sudden, absolute understanding of how things really were. He'd never forget it. And Dear God did it feel fabulous to know what he knew looking at Hadrian now.

Carrow suddenly glanced up, an odd look in his eyes.

Intense viridian orbs ran the full length of his body before, without a word, the pureblood suddenly slammed closed the large book he was reading and got up from his chair, striding towards the portrait hole.

"It's after curfew!" He called obnoxiously.

Carrow showed no sign that he'd heard him.

Pushing open the entrance, the dark heir left without one word of acknowledgment.

Grant smirked.

He knew it.

Carrow was all talk. As soon as he actually had to stand up to him without the backing of the purebloods, he ran from him. He smirked in satisfaction; they were his friends now.

As he walked across the common room towards the far end that his classmates always occupied, he thought on what Dumbledore had said. More and more, the longer he'd thought about it, he realised just how right the man was. Being a werewolf wasn't actually that bad, nothing like the horror he'd thought it was when he'd woken up in the hospital wing.

There was no reason they even had to know about his condition. He had a feeling they might be a part of that group that simply didn't understand. Walking forward, a bounce in his step, he realised it felt great to hold something over them, to silently pity them for their ignorance.

"Hi!" Grant chirped, flopping into the space beside Nott on the black leather couch.

He never noticed how all conversation immediately came to a halt; too busy luxuriating in the fact that he hadn't even had to ask for a seat, they'd saved him a spot.

"You'll never guess what just happened! Did you tell Carrow about what happened today or something? Because all I said was his name and the guy couldn't run out of here faster," He laughed.

When there were no accompanying sounds of hilarity, he finally glanced around and almost flinched.

He was being fixed with the most disgusted, cold looks he'd ever seen.

Grant frowned in confusion. "Did I miss something?" He asked weakly.

A snort of unrestrained derision escaped Stacey Moon. "You miss so many things Sawyer, I think it would be far quicker to list the things you don't miss. One, you're a guy, two, you're a pathetic one. All done," She smiled sweetly.

"What?" He scowled at her with angry confusion before looking around for any defenders. None came.

Looking up from the letter he was reading, Arcturus fixed him with a disdainful look.

"Leave," He ordered coldly.

Flabbergasted, Grant looked hesitantly behind him. The Black heir was looking straight at him but he couldn't possibly mean him. He _must_ be talking to someone else.

But no one was there when he looked around. Everything seemed perfectly normal, the students of Slytherin house socialising with each other just as they did every other night.

He turned back around and raised a finger to his chest, "Me?" He asked with disbelief.

He watched without understanding as the Black heir suddenly gave a low laugh. "You say that with such a genuine tone of bewilderment Sawyer that I can't help but wonder what living in your self-made reality must feel like."

Self-made reality? Grant frowned deeply. What was he talking about?!

"Oh, I'm sure he's six-foot and possesses a killer smile." Came the sarcastic reply from beside him.

Grant whipped around to look at Nott, a furious look on his face. "I thought that we were past this!"

"My my, Sawyer, standing up for yourself now, are you?" Darla Black sneered at him, and Grant had to quickly turn around once again in order to face her. "All it took was a hefty dose of imagination, superficial flattery, self praise and viola! You almost have a spine."

Grant looked around, his confusion mounting by the second. These people were his friends, were they simply teasing him? Was this normal conversation between them? It seemed strange but the thought that it was anything more was so alien to him by this point that it was the only explanation his flustered mind could come up with.

"No, Darla, don't you remember?" Bevin Greengrass piped in with a mocking smile. "Sawyer is a powerful, cultured wizard that is merely misunderstood through no fault of his own. What seemed like failures were actually well designed plots that Hadrian constructed in order to boost his own image within the House."

Grant stared at his ally with shock; betrayal written clearly across his features.

He'd confided in Bevin out of trust; to hear him mock Carrow's design like it hadn't caused him years of wasted opportunities and made him a social outcast, hurt.

"Please stop," Abraxas demanded. "Even in jest, it's too soon. My ears are still bleeding from the absolute shit it was forced to hear today."

Grant looked around wildly not understanding anything anymore. It sounded like…but it couldn't, they were his _friends _now. So why did he feel like he was being attacked on all sides?

"Why are you all acting this way?" He finally demanded, looking instinctively towards Arcturus for answers.

The Black heir leaned back in his chair and fixed Sawyer with a penetrating gaze. "Can't you guess?" He mocked cruelly. "The thought didn't cross your mind?…No doubts? Hints? Perhaps a little voice in the back of your mind that said, 'this is too good to be true'?" Tilting his head to the side, a lock of dark hair fell across Arcturus' face, drawing attention to the slow smirk spreading across his lips. "Did you really think it was real, Sawyer?"

Grant heard the words, saw the condemning eyes that surrounded him and shook his head. "No," He said sternly. "No, that's not it. That's not it. You're lying. I don't know why," His voice trembled. "But you're lying! Why are you lying?!"

"Oh please, Sawyer!" Nott drawled, rolling his eyes at what he saw as pathetic dramatics. "What? Did you really think you could strut up to us at breakfast, invite yourself to join us and suddenly we'd forget that for the past six years you've been less than the dirt beneath our boots?"

Cold dread began seeping into his bones and his eyes darted amongst the damning disgust reflected around him.

"But Tom-?" He was grasping at straws.

Abraxas leaned forward, an eager light in his eyes. "First of all, Sawyer, it would be my advice to refer to Tom as Riddle from now on."

He had been forced to tolerate the mudblood's presence for days now without retaliating. The level of Sawyer's insanity astounded him. He'd always known that the muggleborn was a waste of space but even he hadn't realised just how repulsive his dorm-mate was.

It wasn't enough to just curse him. He wanted to tear Sawyer to psychological pieces and all he needed in order to achieve that, was the truth.

"You see, none of us," Abraxas pointed to the group widely, "could understand why Grant Sawyer would, seemingly of his own free will, act in such a way as to negatively impact on the only thing that was keeping your hide relatively safe."

"What are you talking about?" Grant frowned at the Malfoy heir.

"I always knew you were stupid, Sawyer," Moon snapped sharply. "But to purposefully move to get Carrow into trouble with the teachers while we all could overhear you? Personally, I thought that even blatant stupidity couldn't account for such a moronic move. Congratulations," She smiled without meaning, "you proved me wrong."

Grant scowled. Carrow. He'd gotten to them. He breathed out slowly. Despite his anger at Carrow once again trying to mess up his life he was relieved to finally understand where this was all coming from.

He raised his hands. "Okay, okay," He said in a placating voice. "I understand where this is all coming from now." He looked at them all with put-upon forgiveness. "Carrow obviously said something to you, but you shouldn't let him plant his doubts in your heads so easily!"

Bevin snarled at the presumptuousness. "Shut up, Sawyer!" He hissed poisonously. "No-one here wants to hear your truly ludicrous conspiracy theories."

Grant drew back, affronted. "Just listen-" He began to insist, only to be cut off by Arcturus' serious voice.

"The only reason you have escaped practically unscathed in your years within Slytherin is only because of Carrow's protection. The thing you seem to resent so much has kept you alive."

"But-!"

"You have no power, Sawyer. Your arguments border on the ridiculous."

"That's not true! He's gotten to you!" Worry began to once again take hold as he saw the absolute belief in all the faces surrounding his. "Wait!" He exclaimed with panic, "Whatever Carrow told you, you can't believe what he said! If you told him about what I said at the Lake this afternoon and he denied it, you can't just take his word for it! What else was he going to do? I told you earlier, he twists everything to his advantage in order to create this deception of me being in his debt-"

"Your whole…theory about Hadrian," The Black heir spun his wand in his hand skilfully, "rests on a fallacy, Sawyer. One which simply isn't true and one which you seem incapable of identifying."

Why were they so intent on always believing Carrow?!

Arcturus' eyes suddenly glanced up to pierce his own. "You believe Hadrian is looked down on within Slytherin house. You believe that because he is a pureblood and an heir to a dark family he is merely tolerated by us."

Grant swallowed as those clear, unemotional words drifted over him. Unlike all the other things he'd heard, for the first time he was hesitant. Because those words were absolutely true. More eloquently put, but essentially, yes, that is what he believed.

"Somehow, you arrived at this understanding," Arcturus stated coldly. "But that isn't the fallacy in your theory that I was talking about. The amount of holes in your thinking are too numerous to point out."

Grant gritted his teeth with aggravation, his hands clenched into fists against his knees as, without even wanting to, he found himself hanging on the pureblood's every word.

"Your biggest misunderstanding…" Arcturus looked him straight in the eye so the truth of his next words couldn't be avoided. "Was believing that _Hadrian Carrow _ever gave enough of a damn about you to put such a strategy into effect."

…

_What did you think? I'd love to hear! ;D_


End file.
